


Will You Take Me Home?

by Jobooksandcoffee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ex Sex, F/F, F/M, Fights, Friends With Benefits, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Mention of drugs and overdose, Mike Stamford is Awesome, Mutual Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Old Friends, Original Character(s), Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Break Up, Rosie freaks out!, Sherlock is a Mess, Suicidal Ideation, Therapy, do not copy to another site, is it still a slow burn if they have already lived together?, she is a little BA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 114,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jobooksandcoffee/pseuds/Jobooksandcoffee
Summary: Inspired by the wondrous "Know You All Over Again" by the brilliant Poppy Alexander, this started as a way to cope with it's hiatus, and quickly took on a life of its own. It is story of a painful break up. Two men are looking for ways to cope, to raise their 10 year old girl, to find  reasons for going on. They need help of family and friends to make it through. Will each be able to do what the other needs? Will they be able to trust again? Sherlock and John must  find themselves and unearth what went wrong, so they can build a new relationship. Some stories that inspired me will be linked at the bottom of each chapter. Updates every Wednesday. This story is complete!
Relationships: Harry Watson/Original Female Character, John Watson/Original Female Character(s), Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 449
Kudos: 108
Collections: Sherlock Author Showcase 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Know You All Over Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673217) by [PoppyAlexander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander). 

> I thank my two talented, loyal, wonderfully supportive betas,[ Dovahlock221](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/%20Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221), and[ Loveismyrevolution](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) Loveismyrevolution. They squeed and laughed and cried and made me think maybe someone else would also enjoy reading this. The rating for Chapter 1 is Mature, it will go Explicit really fast.

[Parachute-The Mess I Made](https://youtu.be/YSapz4iH_68)

Rosie kept looking up towards the doors of her school auditorium filled with students, their science projects displayed on tables, and their parents, for the school’s Annual Science Fair. She explained the process of crystallisation of honey to the wide-eyed, slightly disheveled lady, looking at her open mouthed. Blond, curly hair up in a chignon, light smell of antiseptic, familiar white shoes. Nurse. Rosie had seen her walk away in a rush, from the spot a family group was approaching her friend’s table. The woman kept glancing over to see if they had left. This was Nyla’s “other” mom. The American one, though her accent wasn’t what Rosie knew as american. She knew from Nyla her moms were getting divorced. Just like her dads. Speaking of whom, John was late. He rarely was. Today of all days when she thought she was doing brilliantly. 

“You are amazing!” Said Nyla’s mom. “I didn’t even know the word for it was crystallisation!” 

“Yes, she truly is that and more…” Said a low, dear voice. “She was able to keep this whole project a secret from me.” 

Rosie’s heart leapt at the voice. She turned around “Sherlock!! You’re here!! You came!!” She threw herself happily into his embrace. One more day and she could go home with him.

“Obviously, Watson…” He said as he hugged her back, lifting her feet off the ground “...I wouldn’t dare miss your debut as a budding scientist.”

Rosie went through the whole process again. “John just helped me open the honey jar. He insisted on supervising the whole experiment, even though it was just a tiny one. He took pictures though. If you want I’ll have him send them to you.” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “John? What happened to Dad?” He said “and yes of course I want the pictures. For visual documentation. Your project has a considerable level of difficulty. I’m impressed by it. You worked hard.”

Rosie basked in the praise, and didn’t answer the question. She had a huge fight with John. About the stupid flat. He dared to call that dingy, ugly place home. Home was Baker Street. When he picked her up last time, she hadn’t wanted to leave and told him so. John had the nerve to tell her amicably “sorry sweetie, but it’s time to go home with Dad now.” As if Sherlock were no one. She waited til they got to the flat and then just let him have it. Nor the flat was her home nor John any more Dad to her than Sherlock. And Dad didn’t say anything back, just let her yell abuse at him as if he were...a chip and PIN machine, automatic, with no feelings about what he had done at all. That was when Dad became John. Because to her both men were equal and belonged in one home. She had almost given up hope that this would change, that they would go back. And she was mad. Oh sod…speak of the devil there came Dad...John. 

“Hi sweetheart! Sorry I’m late! I came as soon as I could! Too bad some people do not have the courtesy to answer my texts.” Said John, not acknowledging Sherlock. 

“Hello John” Said both Rosie and Sherlock in unison.

“Rosie, some people’s phones can be either low in charge or incommunicado due to being in the tube” Said Sherlock. 

Rosie sighed. “Nevermind, you both made it, that’s what counts.” Rosie said in a clipped tone, as she stood between them.

John had tons more to say, but Rosie’s classroom teacher Ms. Lane, came towards them. “Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes, how good to see both of you here! Rosie’s presentation is just marvelous! I’ve had other teachers come over to comment about it. 

“She did it by herself! Well except for buying the ingredients, washing up and putting away the material, but then, those are learned behaviours.” Rosie rolled her eyes, another learned behaviour, and went to explain her experiment to a visitor.

Ms. Lane stayed, talking to them both: “ Now that I have you here, I would like to give you a heads up. The new unit we will begin next week deals with family. Our first topic will be family trees.” 

John saw the new, pretty art teacher coming close and joining them. Ms. Ruiz, a petite, curvy, pretty lady had captured John’s attention last month, when she had taken over Mrs Wells maternity leave. She had made John remember what it was like, to want a woman.

“...certainly has no problems talking about your divorce.” while John struggled to fill in blanks, Sherlock said; “Well, we were never married, so divorce is not an issue. We’re separated.”

Pretty Ms. Ruiz turned her big brown eyes from Sherlock to John. John cleared his throat. This was just the kind of oversharing that drove him crazy, but it was already done “The correct term for what we are…” He said, looking at Ms. Lane; “...is ‘broken up’.” 

John proceeded to pretend he did not see the guarded, careful look Sherlock gave him, or his long fingers flickering against his thigh, as he went to join Rosie. John stayed where he was, and when Ms. Lane left to do her rounds, he talked to Ms. Ruiz, chatting her up.

Later on, John took the miniature version of Sherlock, sulky and sighing her discontent, back to the flat, where he presented her with Risotto for dinner. “Ugh! This is gooey sticky rice with no flavor in it. I’m not hungry.” John thought of reasoning, then said “Suit yourself. I’ll leave it in the pot if you change your mind.” 

She didn’t. Taking her bookbag with her, she strode to the only bedroom in the flat and majestically shut the door, too soft to be a slam, to loud to be polite. John sighed; leaving Baker Street was supposed to mean leaving Sherlock behind. Now he had to deal with a mini version of him, who talked to herself in French just to goad him, it seemed, and rejected his invitations to play board games (they’re tedious) or read alouds (I can read by myself now. Besides you can’t make all the voices.) Rosie preferred to read her books on the sofa, with the telly on Discovery Kids.

******

Sherlock hovered at the bottom of the stairs. Should he go to Mrs. Hudson’s? He could pretend it was to show off Watson’s clever science project. He was honoured she had thought of using honey. Her display was perfect, with facts, diagrams, pictures, and actual honey, in different states of crystallisation and realistic bee and beehive decorations. He decided not to bother Mrs. H. It was rather late. He would skip dinner and have some tea. Upstairs, the flat was cold. It always was when it wasn’t a Watson night. He meant to look at some cold cases Donovan had asked him to review, but got caught up filing away everything about Watson’s science fair. Down to the light in her eyes when she first realised he was there. Watson’s school had a classroom of it’s own in his Mind Palace. Unwanted, the memory of how John had not looked at him when he arrived surfaced. Of course, John would correct him when Sherlock said they were separated. It did not hurt him when John said they were broken up. After all, it was already 3 months, one week and four days since John could not “take _ it _ any longer” and moved himself and Watson out. 

There also was the way he looked at the art teacher. Gianna Ruiz, age 32, american, recent expat. English was her second language. She came from Puerto Rico, she loved London and aspired to travel through Europe. She was truly dedicated to her job, loved children and was knowledgeable on the subject of Fine Arts. No romantic involvement, of course. Liked older men, usually not that much older, but willing to take a chance for John. And him; standing at attention, eyes focused on her. He most likely asked her out right then, or would not far in the future. Sherlock took one look and knew John had been fantasising about her. Sherlock didn’t care. It meant nothing to him.

“So, how was our girl?” Asked Mrs. Hudson, startling Sherlock out of the Mind Palace. He now noticed it smelled like chicken and bacon sandwiches. She was setting tea for two on the table in front of the olive green sofa. There was a fire on and the telly turned on a tattoo competition. Soon they were deep in conversation. It extended to a great variety of topics, except one. One smallish army doctor, who had a new address and a new love interest. When Sherlock went to sleep, on the new library daybed, (never in their bedroom, his bedroom again, now) Sherlock almost didn’t remember John’s brown trousers, with the blue plaid jacket with the gold stripe, and the cream colored shirt, the brown leather good quality shoes, new. He didn’t remember the smell of his cologne, nor his soft, dreamy, look, when talking with the art teacher. He didn’t remember the way he said goodbye, looking somewhere else, never having met Sherlock’s eyes at all. Bad memory was a definite advantage.

******

“You are still very angry at him.” Said Beverly. John’s therapist. He had gone to Ella, but he had to admit he felt judged. She knew him for too long, she had been there for him when Sherlock...went away? when Mary died, when he and Sherlock finally started their relationship. She had looked so sad when John had gone in and told her why. Ella had given him a card, looked him in the eye and said. “I will not be seeing Sherlock either, John. I have no professional distance left for this. I’m so sorry.” So now he went to Beverly. He supposed any therapist he went to was made aware of the importance of secrecy. She listened and nodded, which was fine with him. Today though, she seemed more present.

“Yes, pretty much so.” John answered her question.

“You and Sherlock were both at Rosie’s science expo?” John nodded and folded his hands on his lap. “How was it? Did you argue? Did it go well?” 

“Somewhere in the middle, I guess. I thought he didn’t answer my reminder texts, so when I saw him there, I was...upset. I was convinced he was playing games, trying to get the upper hand. Then, once I got home, I realised he had answered. I just didn’t get them because I got caught in a mess of traffic in the tube.”

“Was he hostile? Did he respond with anger?”

“No, in all, he was pretty subdued. He seemed less stuck up than he has been lately. More present. He busied himself taking pictures of Rosie’s work.”

“Any conversation between you two?” She asked

“Not really, we sort of talked through Rosie. She noticed it, and hates it.” 

“All children do. Anything else you would like to share?” Beverly asked.

“He told Rosie’s teacher we were “separated because we had never been married, therefore couldn’t divorce.” 

“And what did you feel about that” 

“I was upset. He said it in front of people who didn’t know us. So I corrected him. I said that we were ‘broken up.’ For a second there, he looked hurt.”

“And that left you feeling…”

“Like a right arse. I want to live my own life, but I’m not out to hurt him” They moved along to talk about Rosie and school.

******

“Lestrade, you are bisexual…” Sherlock said as he peeked at the takeout and crinkled his nose.

“Woah there, big boy! Why are you making faces at my food? It’s the rice you liked at that South American place close to NSY!” Greg whinged.

“Answer me! When you had sex with your wife, would you have preferred it had been with your male lovers?”

“Ahh, Sherlock, what the hell kinda question is that to ask your mate?”

Sherlock paced the living room floor, his hand shaking against his thigh (‘playing an invisible tambourine’, was how Greg thought of it.) “It’s a question. Say someone was bi and had lots of relationships and sex with women. Then he had a long term relationship with a man. Not quite two months after they are broken up, the man starts dating women. Did he ever really like sex with his ex-lover? Or was he just ‘making do'?”

“Sherlock, what John feels for you is real. And seven years is a hell of a long time to ‘make do’.”

“Felt. Past tense. If it was, then why would he want a woman? Wouldn’t he want sex with a man, if he liked the man he was with for nearly 7 years?”

“Sherlock, when you’re on the rebound and bi, a person of either sex can look good to you. I think maybe he went for women cause he just wants to get laid and he feels it’s the easier way. Maybe he’s not willing to give another bloke a try. Might a) fall in love with the sod, or b) compare him to you all the time. Who would you be more jealous of John dating, a woman or a man?”

“Not applicable. I am totally indifferent to whom John decides to have sex with. I just wanted to know your opinion.”

“Alright, Himself, come eat rice, then.”

******

Rosie nibbled the almond pastry, while she looked at the two men of her life. They had said curt “hello”s and settled in at the table at Speedy’s. They were having coffee, Rosie hot chocolate with almond and chocolate croissants, that both dads were pecking at. “Well…” She said taking out her notebook and making a little stick girl in the center of the page. Let’s start with me. She wrote her name Rosalie Amelia Watson-Holmes. John looked at it.

“Perfect for now, but to hand in your work you will have to use your…” John started

“Given. Given name. This is my real one. Really John, who names their daughter ‘Rosamund Mary? And I want to add Sherlock’s last name next to yours!”

“It’s not on the papers, Little Bee. So it can’t be used officially” said Sherlock.

“Well, then we’ll ask uncle Mycroft to write them up. He’ll do it for me.” Rosie exclaimed.

In reality, there was little Mycroft Holmes would not do for Rosie Watson. They were fast friends. Rosie had long ago expressed to him an interest in learning how to be The English Government, so they would talk about countries near and far. 

“Very well, you in the middle…” said Sherlock.

“John to the left, and Sherlock to the right. You guys are both ‘Father’.” She said, her eyes daring them to disagree. They both appeared to know better. Rosie wrote down “Nana Hudson- Grandmother”. The men proceeded to battle for Mrs. Hudson.

“She should be on my side. My parents are both deceased. Yours are alive, it will appear you have three!” Said John.

"Fine! Then I shall give you my parents to put over your name! “ Sherlock huffed; “You can keep my parents and The Queen. I’ll throw in his crown, his dainty umbrella and his crystal clear wing tip Derbys! Hudders is mine!!”

Sherlock said it with such drama and flair, Rosie couldn’t help herself, spit out some pastry and laughed her head off at the idea of her dads physically pushing and pulling Mycroft around, wearing a crown. The absolute best part was that her dads looked at her in surprise, then looked at each other and burst out laughing, too. For a moment there, they were themselves, like it had been before The. Cold. War.

  
  


******

John had to admit the meeting had gone quite well. Mrs. Hudson occupied a central place on the tree, with Harry and Meghan, Mike and Bill as siblings of a sort, on his side. On Sherlock’s side, his parents, The Queen (how they had laughed at that!), Molly and Greg. Sherlock had delicately mentioned Mary and nearly had his head torn off with an emphatic “Nope!” Mike’s Melanie and Peggy (Whom Rosie called Pepsi, ever since she could talk) were labeled cousins.

They had parted today with something feeling lighter between them, that they could still work on something together, still laugh. John had been delighted to see Sherlock was not being the cold, aloof machine he had been during the last bit of their relationship, and the first weeks of their separation. Sherlock had made it clear he did not care what John did. Hadn’t demonstrated a bit of discomfort when John had his boxes ready and moved out. 

However, things had changed a bit. Sherlock had softened somewhat. John had to be careful now. That look in Sherlock’s eyes as they met his, had done something to him, that he had told himself would not happen again. He had felt a tiny crack in his armour. Sherlock’s bloody eyes.

******

(Gloucestershire -Artic Quest)

[Josie Dunne-Stay The Way I Left You](https://youtu.be/-EbA7FU1GTM)

-John…

SH

-John…

SH

-John, she is going crazy…

SH

-We are in your flat looking for them.

SH

As if on cue, the man seemed to know when John had been thinking about him. They had been out to meet the “Team” of Huskies they would be working with and his first thought upon seeing the happy, energetic dogs had been; ‘oh, Sherlock would love this!’ He had seen the face the detective would make, his eyes shining with delight, the real smile that John loved, the multitude of chins, surrounded by the beautiful creatures. John’s mind had gone as far as to thinking he would find out about booking them a stay when he remembered with a start that they were broken up.

John, who had just sat down for a beer after chiding himself, sighed. Silly of him to think the posh boy could take care of Rosie by himself for the whole weekend. Now they were in his flat. But John wasn’t allowed back home, oh no! If Sherlock and Rosie thought they were subtle, they were wrong. He knew they both bent over backwards to keep him out of 221b. Not that he cared. 

-What is it? You said taking care of her would not be a problem.

-Taking care of her is not a problem! The issue we are having is that she has a tear on her trainer. She caught it on that horrible counter corner at your place when you two were hurrying out. Her foot is unharmed. SH

-The tear is big, the trainers have been rendered useless and we came back to your flat to look for her bee ones. Where are they, do you know? SH

John groaned. He had known there would be an issue with those, though he had dared to hope she would forget them. They had been a present from Sherlock, her last birthday they were still together.

-I threw them out. They were stained and old and barely fit her. 

(7 minutes later)

-John. Your daughter has your mouth. This kind of vocabulary may not be conducive to a harmonic interaction. I will attempt to defuse the situation. In the future, please refrain from trashing Rosie’s objects without her knowledge, especially those with the apis mellifera on them. SH

John couldn’t help a quiet chuckle. Sherlock did have a way about him, even while telling him how to raise his kid. John left the tent to go train with the guys.

When he came back to camp, tired, sweaty and happy, from their first training, he found this:

-Situation defused. Use of highly sophisticated negotiation techniques were necessary. SH

Yeah right, thought John smiling, more likely bribery of some sort, be it a show (please not Unsolved Crimes or CSI), or maybe some kind of treat. 

  
They had gone on an “Arctic Quest” experience to celebrate Murray’s 50th birthday. John was enjoying it, but a couple of the guys were getting on his nerves. Bill and Thompson and Sommers, had served with him in Afghanistan, but Wells and Peters had not, and man, were they homophobic. They had gone for the dog-sled races, with him and Murray going with Wells. As they prepared the dogs and the sled, Wells had ranted against the “queers” that had supposedly taken over small business in his town. After a long while, he looked at John: “You used to run around with that twink, right John…” Wells said and John’s skin started up in gooseflesh. “...that faggot that thinks he’s better than the police. Good thing you got married, or he would have tried to turn you.”

Bill was still and quiet, waiting to see how he would respond. John was livid; “Yeah, I was married, and damn miserable until I wasn’t. Sherlock didn’t try to turn me. I’m bisexual. And I didn’t just ‘run around’ with him. I slept with him. I lived with him. He was my partner for seven years. Which is longer than any bloody relationship you’ve ever had, excluding the one with your hand.” They finished up and had the practice rides on the sled. When they were done, John stood up. Captain Watson in place. “I give zero shits about what you think of me. You. Do. Not talk about Sherlock ever again, or refer to anyone as a ‘faggot’ in my presence.” With Bill at John’s right, the Wells bloke was out of options. “Got it” he said, looking at the ground. 

John fumed well into the evening. Sherlock was always professional, never slipped at work, they didn’t even hold hands. Yet he got outed, always sneered at, made fun of. John wasn’t even with him anymore and still heard it. Sherlock pretended to not be affected, to not care. Who would stand up for him now?

As he lay in his bed bag, in the tent with Murray, a text came in 

-John, did you know that Husky dogs are incredibly focused animals with an impressive memory? In 1925, a dog team commanded by a Husky named Balto, transported lifesaving antivirus to a group of Inuit children dying for diphtheria in the far off town of Nome, Alaska. They started off in the area of Nenana, with their musher, Gunnar Kassen, as the last leg of a relay team which started in Anchorage. The weather prevented Kassen from going with his team, but Balto remembered the journey and got the team through a blizzard bringing -50 degree weather and savage winds. They travelled 20 hours by themselves and delivered the medicine. Truly impressive, John. SH

John had started the texting, technically. He wanted to come on this trip, so he had texted Sherlock to see if he minded having Rosie an extra day. He said he didn’t. Apparently, that had been an invitation for him to text John with random information. Like in the old times, when he was with Mary and Sherlock’s texts were a lifeline. Ten minutes later…

-John, I hope Murray did not entice you on this trip by promising danger. The Siberian Husky is independent , obstinate and clever. They are assertive but very loyal and social. They were vital rescue dogs during the gold rush in Alaska, and also during the war. As to other animals at the resort you are staying in most of them are either kept out of the place or hibernating

However, I do hope you are enjoying your stay, as I confess I believe the experience may be worth your time. SH 

At that, John’s chest felt a pull. Having Sherlock here would have made the experience so many times better. John took a deep breath. Tried to think about the set up for tomorrow.

Then, ten minutes later...

-If danger is what you want while camping, you may consider a trip to Alaska’s national park Denali. There are many examples of Ursus Arctos, Ursus americanus and Canis lupus, that can provide you with either fear for your life, or the thrill of observing magnificent predators. Think about it, John. I for one am tempted by the idea of studying wolves, as they are fascinating animals. SH

The texts were so Sherlock. Facts, not even a good night. He imagined him at home, in their bed, texting and he missed him, just a little. The tiniest bit.

Sherlock didn’t text again, and the rest of the trip was pleasant enough, as Wells stayed away from John. Gianna texted, asking John when he would be back. They had gone on a date and it had been pleasant. They had exchanged various texts. He answered her and asked her out for a second date. She accepted. 

***** 

Sherlock went downstairs to Mrs. Hudson as Rosie went to meet John. He saw John’s half grin when he spotted Rosie’s new Bee trainers, which they had gone to a shoe store an hour away to get. He checked him out quickly. Sunburned and happy looking. Also stealing glances at the stairs. Mrs. Hudson asked him in for tea, but he declined, saying he was tired and needed a shower.

Rosie called him as he was gathering information about a suspect. She wanted him to procure thin carton boxes to make a school project. She had to make a model of her home for the following week. “We can work while I’m home. If it’s ok to stay in…” 

“Of course it is! We will work on it until it is a recognizable model of 221B.” That weekend they worked, ordered in, worked, ate ice cream, worked. Saturday night, in honor of having completed the frame, they made chicken and waffles, from scratch, following an online recipe. Nyla had introduced Rosie to this treasure, while having a playdate at american mom’s, Charlie’s, flat. Rosie went back to John’s with her project completed, down to the olive sofa and tiny mock books in the library. She was enchanted by how beautiful the flat looked in dollhouse form. John was much less enchanted.

******

“Are you sure you didn’t know about the flat?” he asked Molly. “I mean, you didn’t know and forgot to mention it, did you?” John had been deeply hurt and angered that Sherlock had thrown himself into full fledged renovations of the flat, the moment he marched out, and had made very sure Sherlock knew it. 

“He extended it!” John said, pacing the floor of Molly’s office. “Literally took over the house next door and made a new bedroom, and a new washing room! Oh, and he has a library, complete with a victorian day bed!” 

“Maybe it's not all that John. Maybe Rosie just wanted to exaggerate. She has been teasing you lately.”

“More like testing me! She said yes there were renovations. The two of them slept on Mrs. Hudson’s sofa for months. She likes her bigger room, and she has a room for her friends to stay over. Oh, and Sherlock doesn’t have to go out to do her clothes. Rosie said he does the laundry himself and I know that’s a lie, because he’s a lazy berk who couldn’t be arsed to move a finger. That child didn’t say a word about it to me until I realised what I was looking at and asked her if that was how 221B looked like now.” John took a breath. “Sherlock never told you, Molly?” 

Molly sighed. “John, Sherlock hasn’t had a conversation with me that isn’t about work since you two broke up. He knows you and I talk. He has been to the morgue, Allen consulted with me the first couple of times, though it appears he hasn’t been totally horrible with him. Greg probably knows, though. Doesn’t he have dinner with Sherlock every week?” John blinked, not having known this. Every week? A day each week? Or more? Wasn’t that a little much? He and Lestrade only went out once a month, sometimes twice. He was dropping in on Sherlock every week? Now that they were both single? No, Lestrade and Sherlock, they weren’t ...NO. 

When John had taken Rosie to Mrs. Hudson to drop her off, he had given Sherlock a piece of his mind, though. Fixing the flat after he left! When John asked him why, Sherlock stared at him, mouth slightly opened, slightly shaking his head from side to side. That didn’t stop John for berating him for being a sneaky bastard. Sherlock finally stopped trying to talk, and seemingly stopped listening, too. He just rocked back and forth, sitting on the sofa, holding on to his legs, classic git position. He appeared to be gone into his Mind Palace, and wasn’t that just typical Sherlock, to escape instead of facing up to his screw ups. 

That evening, after leaving Rosie and a still quiet Sherlock at 221, he went to dinner at Gianna’s, and had her for dessert. It was great being with a women after so long. Really fantastic for their first time. He had been reluctant to take the step, but he didn’t remember why. She had been lovely and curvy and tiny and enthusiastic. He had stayed with her after they cleaned up, but John found he couldn’t fall asleep. Gianna eventually ended up with her head on his chest, her dark hair tickling his nose. John stroked it, smooth and silky, his fingers half expecting to catch in curls. She was still asleep when he left. He called her in the morning, and things had been alright.

******

Sherlock was breaking his rule. He never smoked when Watson was over. Never. She hated it and pretended he never did it. But John had been furious. Sherlock had thought they had been tentatively warming up. He had gotten to hope that maybe they could be friendly again, even if they weren’t best friends, or even friends like he was with Gavin, but at least friends that can bring up a child together, that can be in each other’s life. Now, that seemed to have disappeared into thin air. While John had been yelling at him, it had grown increasingly hard to understand what about the renovations made him angry. As John spouted one accusation after another, Sherlock’s verbal abilities went into shutdown and he struggled to find the words to tell him the renovations had been planned and scheduled months before he left.

Sherlock had looked into a family holiday, to keep them away for the initial stage of the renovations. He thought maybe he could begin to express his feelings and stop the horrible fighting, the indifference, the lack of intimacy, When John left, the materials have been bought and paid for, as had the furniture, that John had unknowingly chosen, on different occasions as Sherlock asked him during cases what looked most comforting, or which fabric seemed more conducive to sleep. Sherlock felt his Mind Palace was slow and confusing given the barrage of John’s questions, and while he was struggling not to get lost and find words, words, by the time he finally found some to offer John, said man had left, looking hurt, confused and angry. 

So now he was sitting in the fire escape, smoking, knowing that unwillingly, he had done it again, driven John away, when everything had been so delicate to begin with.

Sherlock went on with cases. He texted John with questions about a skin condition, whether it would be a sign of poisoning. John didn’t answer. On another occasion, he texted asking the average size of a young female adult spleen. No answer.

*******

John was working. He had made up his mind to communicate with Sherlock only in relation to Rosie. He had avoided Greg, pleading work, not wanting to talk to him. Beverly was also in the blacklist at the moment, the last session ending in her telling John he had to communicate with people he still wanted in his life. John wasn’t sure he wanted any of his current acquaintances in his life anymore. 

John did send Sherlock a text about the parent/teacher meeting. It was on a Tuesday, late in the afternoon, 5:30pm. Case time, no chance the great detective would want to come, but John sent the reminder anyway. 

When he walked into the school, he was surprised to see him, apparently fighting with Donovan on the phone. 

“I didn’t pick it up! Herndon did it! No! I just happened to stumble close to it Donovan! Well, you know that, because you seem to have a modicum of intelligence, Herndon will never realise it! Well you are Detective Inspector now, Donovan, if you have a more legitimate way to obtain evidence against the murderer, then by all means, get rid of this, but if not, it stays between you and I. And I’m busy starting now, so don’t call again!” 

John deduced the situation pretty easily. “Wow, I see there is love between the DI and you. Lestrade must be jealous.”

Sherlock gave John a little side look. “Hello John. *Donovan has proven to be quite an effective DI and she is more open to work with me since I helped her niece get into a good school a couple of months ago. A smart girl, Lewis. As to Lestrade, why would he be jealous? He is not a DI anymore, and even though he is supposedly working for the English government, he still has plenty of time to harass me and impose his presence.”

Ms. Lane got down to business. “Rosie is doing very well in school. She continues to perform above grade level, even being the youngest student in the class. Her social skills are still appropriate, I’ve observed her getting closer to Nyla, whose parents are going through a divorce. They talk a lot during class. One thing I have observed, is that Rosie seems to have the need to solve problems. She has been striving for nothing less than perfection in her work…”

“And how is that a problem?” interrupted Sherlock.

The teacher continued; “It wouldn’t be, if she weren’t so anxious and worried about not being able to resolve a conflict amongst her peers or about solving even the hardest math problem. She may be expressing some anxiety about her family situation? How is she behaving at home? I dare say she can’t be the perfect little girl everywhere.”

Sherlock answered first: “With me she follows directions, she takes care of her clothes and her things. Rosie will help me cook and eat with me. Sometimes she does get grumpy or sad, but she will let me know if she needs a moment of privacy or if I can help. I would say she likes to have frank discussions about how life is for both of us now. She has asked me if I would tell her if I date someone. I said I would. She has been perhaps a bit more clingy than usual, but that’s about it. I really have not seen her anxious.” 

John felt terrible, but decided to go with the truth. “It’s very different with me…” He said, looking at the desk in front of him. “...she hates the flat. Hates what I make for dinner. Resents me trying to check or review her homework. Rosie never tells me what’s wrong. She doesn't talk about anything she does with Sherlock. She has even stopped calling me Dad.” John felt a knot in his throat. He looked decidedly at Ms.Lane, not wanting to see a smug look on Sherlock’s face. 

Her face was very kind; “Dr. Watson, I have seen this kind of change in children going through changes in their families. Rosie challenges you as she knows you are safe, you will be there for her even given her worst behaviors. These times are not easy, but they are temporary, until things settle down and time sets the new routines. You might consider a counselor to help her through this transitional stage.” 

They finished their chat, John signed the report cards and left the classroom. Sherlock invited him to dinner, so they could talk about Rosie. When John looked into his eyes, he found only concern in them, no triumph at all, and accepted. They went to the Chinese place they usually had gotten take out from. As they ate, Sherlock ventured; 

“John, I didn’t know that it was that bad. I should have asked her about …” 

“No, how could you know? She never says a word about what she does with the other. You two cook together? She actually eats?” 

“Yes. We usually look up recipes online. If it comes out a winner, we’ll add it to our menu.”

“How about homework? It’s battle royale at mine’s”

“She brings her work to me when she’s done, and she asks when she doesn’t know something, which is rare.”

“Does she give you grief about going places? She seems to either want to stay in all day, reading, or just go to the park near Baker Street.” John had to talk around the knot in his throat. “Not the most stellar of parents, here, huh?”

“John, Rosie is obviously taking things at face value, and blaming you for our breakup because it was you who physically moved out. She never overheard our discussions. She wasn’t aware of my behaviours, my anger and my part in this situation. Also, I stayed at home. She prefers the familiar place. You are not a bad parent, John. On the contrary, you are showing extraordinary patience and love, supporting her through this time without punishing her or making her aware of how much this is affecting you…” 

John rubbed his eyes before looking up. 

Sherlock’s face was soft with concern. “You should have said, John. I would have taken some kind of action. In fact, I will.” 

“Counseling? Maybe we should look into it?” 

“I have another idea first. Can I try it? I’ll let you know.”

The next day, John got an email while he was at work. It was a receipt for a Young Scientist six week workshop “Science Solves the Mysteries of the World”. With it a message: “John, the workshop runs three times a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, from 5 to 6 pm. There are various “do at home” experiments she will have to complete. Please, present the workshop as your idea and do the tasks with her. I will make myself available to take her to and from when needed. SH’ 

He was rendered speechless. Then remembered this was Sherlock. He did things like this. Gave people what they needed. The workshop was wonderful, filled with space and earth science facts and all kinds of experiments involving homemade solutions and beakers and many more Sherlock-ish things. Rosie was so happy. She continued to call John by his name, continued to hate the flat, and eat sparingly. She did warm up some towards him, especially as they worked through the experiments. 

  
  


The relationship between Donovan and Sherlock is inspired by the incomparable Chryse’s 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story that set the bar for the Sherlock and Donovan relationship is Chryse’s “Another Country”  
Read that one! And all of Chryse’s work! Truly magnificent stories!  
Also inspiring, You Go To My Head by the amazingly talented 7PercentSolution and J_Baillier  
I will be adding songs linked here and maybe some others that I listened to on repeat while writing this; Will You Take Me Home


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men, separated, a family divided. Each coping in the way they know how. That's where we left them. In this Chapter, a good friend celebrates an early retirement. There will be a show, good food, dancing and ...alcohol? What are two recently broken up blokes with leftover feelings to do in a situation like this? This chapter gets its rating upgraded to E. Unfortunately, as [a_different_equation](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation) says [ "Sex doesn't solve all the problems"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581041/chapters/33695199) Our men will encounter plenty of challenges. So enjoy the party, the music and the dancing. Enjoy the sweet moments these two share... and invest in some tissues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Know You All Over Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673217) by Poppy Alexander.  
I thank my two talented, loyal wonderfully supportive betas, [Dovahlock221](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/%20Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and[Loveismyrevolution](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) Please do not be alarmed by the "?" in the Chapter count, this story is complete. I am currently torturing my Beta about wanting shorter chapters, which means more chapters.

Though John had continued to date Gianna, it was just dating. He had told her he wasn’t ready for a new relationship and she said she understood. So when Greg invited him to his retirement party, he accepted, and called Molly to come with him. He was happy he did. They went to the ceremony and found the whole gang present, including Anderson. Greg’s three children were there, the boys with their significant others. Sherlock was there too, looking perfect in a bespoke light gray suit and a verdigris shirt, alone.

Then they went to the reception at the Savoy Place. Donovan came to stand next to Sherlock as Lestrade, looking very good in an excellent and well fitted blue suit, gave his speech and thanked the three of them, Donovan, Sherlock and John, for their friendship and help throughout the years and through his work as DI and later as Superintendent. Everybody cheered with champagne.

A huge carton cake was brought out and a prim and proper young red headed man with a tuxedo and a slick black umbrella came out of it. John looked up and saw Sherlock’s delighted smirk. Was the boy a take on...no.

[(inspiration for the stripper's dance)](https://youtu.be/jPCJIB1f7jk)

The spotlight on, the lights off, sensual music and the stripper worked his stuff to the delight of all present. Greg’s face was scarlet as the boy stripped down to a sexy black corset, black leather shorts, netted black fishnets and boots to “I’m too Sexy” When that ended he did a naughty dance number to Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ using his in very creative ways. John noticed the black umbrella was lined on the inside with cake slice designs, and was presented to Lestrade as a gift. So Sherlock had deduced something. After that, the Yard’s belly dancer was good, but paled in comparison.

Pour Some Sugar On Me- Def Leppard 

The lights came back on, the buffet and bar opened and music started playing. To John’s surprise, Sherlock did not miss a beat. He took off his suit jacket and lay it on a chair. He took Donovan’s hand and they started to dance, “Pour Some Sugar on Me”. And by god they looked hot together, their bodies undulating, each of them close to the other, starting to sweat. Then “Don’t You Want Me Baby”. John danced with Molly, and then Greg came to take her out, but John mostly stood next to the bar, looking at the dancers, specifically one of them. Eventually, he went to the buffet, finding some excellent food, the Yard had really splurged. The whisky at the bar was also excellent. He saw Sherlock down it, quite a few times, before going back to the dance floor, dancing with Tara, Lestrade’s youngest, then with a lady officer, who looked so grateful to have been picked.

John saw Sherlock dance like a demigod. Couldn’t keep his eyes off of him. Sherlock swept through the hall. Danced with every lady present. Donovan, Molly and Tara repeatedly. Damn body memory. Felt like desire.

Molly came to the bar after “Bang Bang Bang” looking all flushed and happy. “Oh, he’s in a good mood! All happy and quite tipsy. You know they paid for this.”

“They? “ John was tipsy, too. “The Holmes brothers.” said Molly. Now the venue, the quality of the food and the drink made sense.

[Heroes (We Could Be) I Trevmonki Dance Concept](https://youtu.be/AbXAn3JuNK)

At the intro to “We Could Be Heroes” Sherlock asked Greg to dance. Both men laughing, but dancing admirably well together, in a simple but quite sexy choreography with Sherlock leading, as always. There were coordinated steps, both dancing together and apart, with much shaking of Sherlock’s magnificent arse. John thought those two must have practiced dancing at Bakers Street, during Greg’s ‘weekly lunches’ with Sherlock. Though they had to have practiced more than once a week to get to this level. He felt it again, that little anger that Greg should get that close. Irrational, that. People went crazy, hooting, clapping, taking pictures. Other dancers joined in, and continued after the song ended. Finally, Sherlock came over to stand next to him at the bar, breathing heavy, sweating, tired, asking for another whisky.

“Would you like to dance, Captain? I could make sure our song played.” Sherlock asked, not looking John in the eye.

Did he have to look so damn good? The bloody shirt turned lights on in his eyes. Even tipsy, even now, Sherlock remained, by far the most beautiful person in the place. John’s body felt an electric charge, when the man leaned over to talk to him.

Trying to keep it together, John said: “Oh, so you are the one who makes things happen, aren’t you? I wasn’t aware we had a song.”

“Yes, Sir!! I do make all sorts of things happen! The cake? My idea. The umbrella? Yep, my idea, too. Your favorite whisky? Yours truly, of course. We do have a song, and if you dance with me I will play it.”

“I better not. No way I can compete with Greg.” John could imagine too many things happening on that almost deserted dance floor in their current condition.

“A pity, but to be expected. ‘I’m Gonna Be”

“Pardon me?”

“The song. It would have been our song, at our... if we had...ah, forget it. It seems I’m quite inebriated. Ignore me.”

So they stood together, looking at the people dancing until Greg left, with his daughter holding his arm while he waved goodbye with the other hand, and people started following. They watched some late dancers. That was, John watched, as Sherlock walked, not quite steadily to the bar for one more whisky, then came back to stand next to John. The dancers started leaving, the club emptying out. John looked for Molly, and thought for a moment that Sherlock had disappeared. He hadn’t. He was now, sitting on the floor, giggling, whisky in hand.

“Hey! Are you alright?”

“Alright? Of courth! Of course I’m aright…” he said, his words slurring.”... I b'lieve the pro-priate term for my current condition would be plastered, or legleth. Maybe “under the table”? Nope I remembered! “Shitfathed drunk’” He giggled again. “No worries Doctor, I’ll just kip right here.”

John looked at him and made a decision. He went to Molly and asked her to drive his car home. He would put Sherlock in a cab and make sure he made it to Baker Street. She gave him a knowing look and said goodbye. John got Sherlock to his feet. He was swaying, and laughing. “The party was lovely, Captain, wathn’t it? Wasn’t the danther a smash?” Once the cab came, John knew Sherlock would fall asleep, so instead of sending him off, he got in next to him. He gave the Baker Street address, but Sherlock surfaced from his slumber to say “Nope, I’ll never make it John, I’ll just be thick all over you. Just leave me here.” so John gave the driver his address which was closer. “Don’t you dare vomit on me Holmes.” Sherlock closed his eyes, but hummed.

They did make it in time, to the relief of the cab driver. Sherlock needed help up the stairs, and unerringly made it to the loo, as John turned on the telly, and put on tea. Rosie was safe and sound at Mike’s, with Mel and Pepsi. Sherlock made it out of the bathroom, still drunk, a little green, but more himself.

“Thank you John. Sorry about that…” he said, waving a hand towards the bathroom. “I’ll just let myself out”

“Hey, what’s the hurry? You’re still drunk, shouldn’t be alone on the streets. Stay, Rosie is at Mike’s, you can sleep in the room. I sleep on the couch anyway.”

“You would be alright with me staying? I don’t want to impose.”

“Of course, you git, or I wouldn’t have said. Relax, have some tea with me. It’ll settle our stomachs.”

So Sherlock stayed, at John’s invitation. He changed the channel on the telly, when John told him to. He had some tea and said “That did soothe my stomach.” and they talked. About Greg and the party. They laughed at the stripper. John commented on Sherlock’s dancing abilities. They talked about Donovan, and Sherlock working with her. About Lewis, her niece, John hadn’t known about her. It had hurt to see he had not known this girl, that had made Sherlock reach out to find a better situation for her. It explained the thawing he saw in Donovan. Sherlock had busied himself with helping her right after John had moved out. John talked about the Science workshop and the progress with Rosie.

********  
Sherlock tried, he did. This was his “ex”, the one who left. The one who “couldn’t take it (him) anymore”. He knew tomorrow he would go home alone. That is what “broken up” meant. John had been kind enough, not leaving him alone to deal with his excesses. Sherlock had basked in John’s keen attention during the party. He took in the experience of being in John’s home, alone with him. He participated and listened to the conversation. In the end, he was overwhelmed. There he was, the person that still meant more to him than anyone, so bloody handsome, looking at him with kindness and maybe something more. His hands, right there, his gorgeous eyes, made Sherlock cease to understand what John was saying now. He just knew John was close enough for Sherlock to take in his scent, and oh, did he smell like longing, and love, and home. It was all Sherlock could do to tuck his hands under his thighs, and try to breathe, to keep himself from pouncing on John. He wanted so much, so bad.

**********

  
[Shawn Mendes-Mercy (Acoustic Guitar)](https;//youtu.be/e2XncXtLSIQ)

John looked up he saw Sherlock, watching him with such longing in his eyes and his breath hitching, and saw his own desire, badly concealed throughout the night, staring back at him. So even though John knew better, he knew he shouldn’t; he had walked out, he didn’t want this anymore, he even had a girlfriend now, but this...Sherlock was here, looking at him like this and John, he, he couldn’t see anything beyond the verdigris of his eyes and he wanted him so bad. John got up and went to him, where he was sitting, taking his head in his hands, brushing those soft, thick curls out of the way, pulling him to give him a kiss, that was not soft and tender. It was urgent, and hungry and wanting. Nobody, nobody had lips like Sherlock, and John licked, and sucked and kissed them like today was all they had. Then he pushed Sherlock’s head back and attacked his neck, and oh hadn’t John missed this long, creamy, vibrant neck now breaking out in goosebumps as John continued licking its length with a broad tongue, then sucking a mark on it, as Sherlock made the most delicious sounds, his fingers, like small embers, lighting up John’s skin, plucking his shirt out of his trousers. Sherlock was hard already, god, the man was so gorgeous. Sherlock tasted of whisky and cigarettes and sweat, reaching for John’s zipper, his strong hands all over John’s body, practically whimpering. “Bedroom.” John said. Sherlock stood, and caught John’s face in his hands, kissed him. “John, oh John”

They made it to the bedroom. John practically tore Sherlock’s clothes off, then got rid of his own. John’s hands went all over Sherlock’s body, to grab hold of his hardness, already wet from leaking. He heard Sherlock saying “No, no...I’ll come, no.” So they took a break, laying next to each other, John touching Sherlock's face and hair, that gorgeous hair, until his breathing evened out some. When John started getting closer, rubbing his hips to Sherlock’s, he said;. “Inside me...Please, please John, inside me.”

Hearing Sherlock say that almost took John over the top. He gripped the base of his cock hard and thought of Greg actually liking Mycroft. He found the lube and slicked his fingers, reaching to play with Sherlock’s perineum and rim, not for long, neither one of them would last. John pushed a finger into Sherlock, as he kissed every part of the gorgeous, beautiful body he possibly could reach, and Sherlock did the same. John prepared Sherlock, as he kissed his legs and stroked his cock, until the man whinged and said “Enough! Get on with it already!” John giggled and said “hold on, you bossy git” He covered his cock with lube and Sherlock’s rim also. Then he held onto Sherlock’s cock and he carefully entered him. Once he was fully in, their eyes met again. Sherlock looked lost, a look John could not identify. “Hard, John, do it rough.” Sherlock said, his voice a low grumble. That was exactly what John wanted. Because this is what it was about; lust. The feelings, they were just shadows. Ashes of what had burnt up between them. Remnants. So John let the body take over, rough and desperate, pounding into him, didn’t even notice he was saying “Mine” over and over. He didn’t acknowledge his eyes spilling over with tears. Sherlock did not bother to mask his moans, alternating with John’s name. It wasn’t long until Sherlock gasped; “God!! John, I can’t… I’m so close. I don’t…” “It’s alright, it is…” He took Sherlock’s cock and stroked it hard. Four times, and Sherlock moved so deliciously, tensing up, digging his fingers into John’s arse hard, screaming out John’s name covering them both with his release, and John, lost it, pounding into him savagely, as he held Sherlock’s hips to him, screaming out when his orgasm took over. John stayed there, until his body stilled and his breath slowed down a bit, stroking Sherlock’s thighs tenderly.

He fell next to Sherlock in the bed and Sherlock immediately turned around to hold him tight, sharing the spent fluids between them. “You ok?” he asked him, Sherlock nodded yes, but said nothing, hiding his face in John’s neck. John thread his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and pretended he didn’t feel the wetness pooling on his shoulder, nor did he comment about Sherlock’s irregular breathing. When he had calmed, John got up. Sherlock sat up in the bed, looking as if he were getting up. “What are you doing? Wait. give me a minute.” John went to the bathroom, washed up and brought Sherlock a flannel, proceeding to clean him up. When he was done cleaning them, Sherlock got up. Instead of heading towards the loo, he seemed to be going to the living room.

“Where are you going?” John asked.

“To get my things. I’m sober now. I’ll go home.” Sherlock said, not looking at John.

“Please don’t? It's late and we’re alone here. Stay, come on.”

“I won’t say no John. Don’t ask me again.”

John laughed at that. “Stay you git. There’s plenty of room here.”

Sherlock walked toward the sofa.

  
“Are you dense? Come to bed…”

“You’re the one asking.” Said Sherlock, sounding a little drunk still or maybe already half asleep, as he came back to bed, he settled into John’s arms, head on his chest, lanky body curled up like a cat’s. The way he always did, after sex, or after cuddles which had been nightly until that last year. Sherlock fell asleep quickly. It was John who stayed awake, playing with Sherlock’s hair, he admitted to himself he had missed these curls so much. The sex had been spectacular, the best ever, it had always been better with Sherlock, bar none. Jesus, what was he supposed to do now? They couldn’t go back to the fights and sex didn’t cure anything. Could they maybe agree to talk it out? There was no way he wanted a life without this madman, but could they really be a couple again? Should they even try?

*At some point he must have fallen asleep because Sherlock woke him up, minty breathed, kissing him, his lips, his face, his scar.

“Oh, wait up, will you, let me brush my teeth.”

“No” said Sherlock, who playfully dragged him to the edge of the bed as he continued to kiss him. Apparently John’s cock had woke up before him and was saluting his consulting detective enthusiastically. “And you said you didn’t want me anymore.” Said Sherlock talking into John’s groin and kissing his cock’s head as John gasped. Sherlock did a thorough job of kissing and licking John’s body, placing some marks of his own. He rubbed his face in John’s groin kissing the shaft and taking his bullocks in his mouth, tickling them with his tongue, sucking them, leaving them wet. He pushed his fingers in John’s mouth and used them to rub at John’s perineum, in due time getting up and using lube to slick the fingers. He took the tip of John’s cock into his mouth and ran the tip of his tongue up and down the head until John thrust into his mouth.

Then Sherlock took John’s whole length down his throat and started to move, swallowing, both men groaning. John looked at Sherlock incredulously, as he held his hair in his hand. Sherlock slowly took his whole cock in, and then just the glans, tongue into his slit, then back to pulling John’s arse towards him and swallowing whole. Sherlock looked upward and into John’s eyes as he sucked, and his eyes were so full of lust and feeling that John came. Hard down Sherlock’ throat. When he could focus, he saw Sherlock still on his knees on the ground, pulling himself. John stopped his hand. Brought him up to the bed, and Sherlock did that thing, his two long fingers, cleaning the side of his mouth. He wasn’t aware of it, but how many times had John dreamt of it. There was a time they couldn’t eat, without John getting half hard at the sight of that tiny gesture. Now, John gave Sherlock a deep kiss and slicked his own hand. He held Sherlock’s cock hard, then started varying the strokes until the detective was a blubbering mess, “John, oh make me come, now!…” John didn’t wait to be asked again and finished him off, with a twist at the top.

*********  
They both dozed off a little again. Then John’s stomach rumbled and he got up to go to the bathroom. He came back with a flannel and cleaned Sherlock off. “You can rest a while and I’ll take the first shower.” Said John as he took fresh pants to the loo. “Mhjnnnfff” said Sherlock and was about to drop back to sleep when he heard a text message. He couldn’t find his phone anywhere so, it had to be John’s phone. Rosie? Sherlock made a mistake.

He looked at John’s phone. It was Gianna. Greeting him oh so sweetly

-Good morning sweet heart (kissy face). Use of emoticons, how dull.

-I’ve been so lonely missing you and all those naughty, naughty things you like to do to me. You know I love it when you...

A crass description of acts that could only be performed with a woman. There were also pictures. Selfies of the two of them at some restaurant. She wore a blue dress that looked painted on, a deep V and a ton of eye liner, her head on John’s shoulder, squeezed together. The woman holding John’s head and kissing his cheek. John was smiling. Another picture; Gianna in lingerie, winking at the camera; young, beautiful, curves in all the right places, small hands, long hair. There were more. Sherlock stopped himself from looking. John’s girlfriend. His new lover. The realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. What was he doing here?

Sherlock dropped the phone as if it burned and got up fast. He quickly dressed in last night’s clothes, except for the shirt, fluids everywhere, had they used it to clean up? bit not good. He stole a vest from John’s dresser and hurried out quietly.

*********  
When John came out of the shower, drying his hair, he called out “Did you put on the kettle, start the toast?”’no answer “did you go back to sleep, genius of mine?” John went to the bedroom, saw it empty and the phone on the pillow. His first thought was that Sherlock had gotten a call from the Yard and ran back to his precious “work”. He had been stupid to think the sex had actually meant something to the detective.

John took the phone, expecting a text from Sherlock, telling him he had gone to Donovan’s. When he opened it up, and saw the pictures instead, it seemed like all the air in the room had been sucked out. No! This was not what was supposed to have happened. Bloody woman! She knew his child, they had talked about saucy texts and photos, she wasn’t supposed to text them! And he, he had just cheated, hadn’t he? On her? On him? Oh God no! Sherlock ran away thinking the woman meant something. John realized now that she didn’t.

********  
Sherlock made it home. Took a shower. He wanted not to think. He couldn’t stop his brain, of course, nor his body, full of marks, bites, aches and pains. How could he not have seen? How did he not know that John had a female lover? Easy, he admitted, he had not seen, because he had not wanted to. He had wanted John so badly, he was willing to hide the truth from himself. Now what did he have left? The certainty that he had been an opportunity, a fluke, not good enough for permanency.

Of course John would be available for sex. There had never been problems with lack of satisfaction, or of completion. The only problem with their sexlife, had been that toward the end, it had been nonexistent. John would not let himself be approached, much less consent to cuddles, kisses or sex. That had been one of the hardest aspects of those last horrid months. John knew how much intimacy with him in all its forms, meant to Sherlock. He chose to withhold it from him, the consequence for his multiple failings.

John’s complaints about his work hours had turned into hatred of cases over 5s. He stopped helping with cases in any and every way. Sherlock, given John’s reluctance to admit their relationship to anyone other than their most intimate friends, his silence in the flat, his anger and the lack of all and any kind of affection, chose to work harder, more challenging and rewarding cases, to make up for his total lack of competence at home. So now, what was last night about? Certainly not physical need. Apparently, John had someone to do “naughty” things with. (How Sherlock hated not being able to forget those texts). Had he ever missed sex with him? He had certainly been a good little catamite, hadn’t he (stupid, stupid!). Had John been missing “Gianna”? Sherlock had just been available, and certainly willing, gagging for it. Why wouldn’t John take what was so voluntarily given. Sherlock felt used...and discarded.

He got out of the shower, got dressed and though the weather was not cold at all, he had to use his scarf to cover the marks on his neck. His thighs were bruised as was his bum. Sitting was a challenge today. Donovan noticed. She also saw his face, and pretended nothing was different. Sherlock worked on a new case. And worked, and worked. Forgot practically everything else.

John apparently had tried to contact him various times during the following week. He looked at the texts, just in case they said something about Rosie, but they didn’t. He still went to pick her up from school. His little girl knew something had happened. She recognized Sherlock was sad, even though they played tickles and he still read to her making all the voices when he put her to bed.

********  
Two weeks later, Rosie went to Mrs Hudson: “Nana, do you know what happened to Sherlock? He can’t eat, cause he’s doing that thing where he puts the tiny bit of food in and can’t swallow. And he’s complaining about noise. He’s grumpy, but trying to hide it. Did he have a migraine? Or maybe one coming in?

Mrs. Hudson sighed. She had noticed Sherlock’s tells. Something had seriously upset him since the night he went out for SI Lestrade’s party. She heard him come home late morning the next day. Mrs. H knew where he had been. Only one possibility, really. She didn’t think her Sherlock would ever be able to say “no” to John. She was worried. Most often than not, when she took his tea up, she found no discarded take-out, no evidence of having prepared anything for himself. He was losing weight. She wondered if she should tell Greg.

********

They were looking over the vic’s body, Sherlock taking a close look at what looked like soccer cleat marks close to the rib cage. They were nuances between brands. Donovan had called Lestrade in, old habits died hard, and she was still dependent on him. Sherlock heard John ask for him to Collins, then greet Lestrade warmly, and Donovan impersonally. Then he approached Sherlock, trying to catch his attention.

Sherlock had been (free falling) working hard to keep himself together since that night. He heard John’s steps, heard his voice. Sherlock’s bloody leg started to shake. He pretended to analyse the body’s wounds, while he put his barriers up. One more acquaintance, nothing more. He turned around.

“John! Good to see you! Rosie alright? I’ll see her tomorrow.” Sherlock greeted.

“Hey! I’ve been texting you, a lot, and calling? Could we have lunch? We should talk.”

“Much as I would like to, it’s not possible. I’m on a case that requires my attention.”

“Dinner? Or coffee? Really Sherlock, you can’t work day and night without food or a break.”

“Have you forgotten who you are talking to? I believe in concluding what I begin, not running away from it when it becomes challenging. Furthermore, you have made your discontent with my work habits extensively clear. They are not of your concern anymore.”

“Ha! Funny that, not run away. You abandoned a situation very recently....”

Sherlock sighed. John was prone to accuse him of oversharing with outsiders. “The evidence proved there were no valid reasons to continue my involvement.”

“The bloody evidence was circumstantial! Sherlock we need to talk!” John said, his voice raising on it’s own.

“Incorrect. Unless it’s about Watson, I’m not available until this case is closed. Married to my work.”

John exercised what self control he had managed to accumulate through his therapy. Eyes closed, fists clenched he took deep breaths and reminded himself he actually could leave it at this, not engage further. He nodded at Donovan and left. John was sure of one thing. No more games. No manipulations. It was what it was.

**********  
Beverly caught the word: “What makes you think Sherlock is manipulating you? Was that typical of him?”

“Well, he’s Mr. The Game is On. What else can it be about? Not answering? It was unfortunate he found the texts, but we were broken up. We are. So even without the pictures, getting back together wouldn’t have been instantaneous. We still would have to talk. Him not answering made me go look for him…”

“You see that as manipulating? Maybe there are some other issues at play for him? You told me he is on the spectrum?”

“He hates diagnosis, being labeled. Sherlock functions quite well when he wants to, so I don’t know. I’m not a specialist. I just see him and his odd combination of genius and challenges. Doesn’t mean he’s not able to manipulate me to his own benefit. To make me see things the way he wants me to. He did that a lot when we first worked together.”

“John, are you sure these are Sherlock’s issues? You told me he had changed when he came ‘back from the dead’. Could you be projecting Mary’s behavior on him?”

“After all these years? I’ve been with Sherlock more than twice as long as with Mary now.” He said, surprising himself.

“Which is why I’m asking. We’ve established Mary’s emotional abuse played havoc on your dynamic with Sherlock. She gaslighted you, controlled your communications and your interactions with him, and interfered with your friendship.” John nodded. “In the first years with Sherlock did you feel abused emotionally?”

“Absolutely not!”

“So what makes you think he  
did it later on?”

“He infuriated me by pretending nothing was wrong, and trying to be physically affectionate. But then, when I was ready to cave in, he would go back to working all hours and being less than civil, and what we had completely froze out.”

“John, were you talking while this was happening ?”

“Ehm, two British men, not really our area, talking.”

“I see more of a lack of efficient communication than an attempt to manipulate, John. Maybe if the two of you talked…”

“Oh well, sod that! He’s Mr. Oh So Busy and I have to get on with my life! Enough.”

So, John went on with his life. He took up volunteer hours to work with homeless and senior veterans, he joined an online dating site, where he profiled himself as straight. If he got a text asking for his professional opinion, he ignored it. He had coffee with Molly and most nights were quiet, after Rosie went to bed, some telly, not thinking about Sherlock, no. John didn’t dream about their night together, never reached out to bring him close as he woke up. At least that’s what he told himself.

*********  
Sherlock worked. Worked two cases at once, asked Donovan for cold cases. He knew he had blown his last chance to talk with John at Barts. He hadn’t been able to talk, not at Barts. He couldn’t bring up words knowing Donovan was there. They were colleagues of a sort. Also, Sherlock had been hurting, thinking of John going back to the woman as if nothing had happened between them. He had sent John four texts. He asked for help with the cases, but he was really just hoping for an opening. No such luck. Didn’t matter. He had Watson tomorrow, so for three days it would be the two of them, against the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this Chapter I want to acknowledge the magical [elwinglyre](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/elwinglyre/pseuds/elwinglyre) This story [Failing Upward](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11804484/chapters/26628405) was one of the first fandom stories I read. It's "intimate" scenes are magical indeed, the story, as all of the ones by this talented Author, fantastic!  
Once again, find the songs at [ Will You Take Me Home](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One piece of paper, written in anger. That is all it takes to hurt a person, to destroy tentative peace. John is away and Rosie is feeling sick. Sherlock goes to the rescue, but that one piece of paper won't allow him to take his girl home...and if that was the only paper where Sherlock was parent to Rosie, now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you to my lovely and talented betas, [Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221)and [Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution), Also a heartfelt thank you to all you lovely people who have given this Monster of mine such a warm and enthusiastic welcome! Thank you for the long comments, the short comments, the kudos and the views. From the writer's side, I can know confirm that all your feedback is life! I hope you can continue to enjoy.

[London Music Works - Requiem for a Tower](https://youtu.be/GaiolutcHKI)

Rosie couldn’t deny it anymore. She felt like crap. Even when the thought of leaving her tennis team minus one made her sorry, the thought of playing tennis was worse. Her head hurt terribly and the lights in the hall had made her stomach roll. Her ears felt full of sand. She raised her hand. “Yes Rosie? “ Ms Lane did a double take, instantly looking concerned “I don’t feel so good” she said as she tried to stand up and fainted, instead.

********

Sherlock’s phone shocked him out of his Mind Palace, where he had been researching the differences of orthodox vs non-orthodox jewish weddings for a case. As he reached for the phone, it quieted, but he received a text from John. 

-Sherlock, answer Rosie 999

Sherlock called back immediately, already dressing hastily and picking up his keys. 

********

Rosie came to in the school infirmary to the sounds of Sherlock’s booming voice. 

“What do you mean you can’t find my name! I have the form, it’s Right. Here!” He yelled, putting the phone to her face, so she could see it. 

The substitute Principal, Ms O’Keily, Mrs Burns out due to a broken leg, tried to talk to him. “Mr. Holmes, that is not the most recent document we have on file. Your name is not on the latest form.”

“What are you talking about? The latest one was for the start of the school year!” His posh voice booming.

“Umh, no there is one later than that.” Ms O'Keily said timidly.

“It must be a mistake, show me!” All Sherlock wanted was to take Watson home.

“Sorry but I can’t show you her file. It’s confidential.”

“Confidential? I raised her! I’ve cleaned her nose and her bum!! There has to be some sort of error. Call John again!”

Ms.O’Keily called John, and Sherlock snatched the phone away from her. “John! This woman doesn’t know I’m Rosie’s Parent!! She says my name is not on the file! She says the beginning of the year papers are not the most current ones! I can’t see Watson because of this stupid idiot!!

Over in Edinburgh, John closed his eyes and rubbed his brow. This was going to be a shite storm. “Calm down Sherlock...it’s not really her fault, she doesn’t know you.”

“What does that have to do with anything! My name is on the paper! This is some stupid mistake…”

“No, Sherlock. There’s no mistake. I...I submitted a new form after I moved out. I was going to tell you.”

An eternity went by and silence on the phone. John could picture Sherlock blinking in his “error” mode.

A deathly low voice, barely above a whisper: “A form without my name on it? Why? When were you going to tell me, when I’d made a complete arse of myself at her school? Will you at least tell them now that I can take her home? If you will allow it, that is.” The absolute worst was that Rosie had been able to hear most of it, and what she didn’t hear, she filled in with her imagination. It had been a quiet ride to Bakers Street, with Rosie feverish and Sherlock agonizing.

********

Three hours later, Rosie was dozing at Mrs. Hudson’s. Sherlock had told her everything, because with one look she had known something was terribly wrong. He had taken Watson’s temperature, checked her throat, which was not inflamed or red. Looked into her ears with his small light and was pretty sure he found the culprit. He gave her paracetamol and texted his findings to John telling him to bring antibiotics. Watson confessed she hadn’t felt well since the day before last, but hadn’t wanted to tell John in fear he wouldn’t let her come to Sherlock.

John came in, looking worried and contrite, bringing with him medicine. He checked Rosie, confirming Sherlock’s deduction. John offered to take Rosie home. She responded with: “I am home, John”. And John had three pairs of eyes glaring at him. Sherlock never took his eyes away as he said to Mrs. Hudson, “Mrs Hudson, could you take Rosie upstairs? She needs to rest. Please make sure you take her to her room and close all the doors.” 

“Yes, dear. I’ll stay with her.” She helped Rosie take her bee and her blanket and they left.

John knew what was in the cards for right now: the Mother of All Domestics; “Sherlock...I want to say… I…”

“Who gave you the right to take my name off Rosie’s list! What in bloody hell John!” Sherlock had walked straight towards John and was currently screaming in his face. 

“She is MY little girl, too! I’ve raised her just as much as you have John Watson!”

The best defense is a good offense. “Oh! Now she’s your little girl? That’s rich! Now you two cook together and make renovations, and are oh so chummy? And what about all those times your precious work kept you so busy that you couldn’t be bothered to come home to spend time with her? What about all the school specials you missed and the conferences, and the birthday parties? All the times you were so tired from your all important cases you couldn’t be bothered to go places with us? All of the sudden she is YOUR girl, when half of your time you couldn’t take your eyes away from your computer?”snarled John

“I have always been there for Watson! Who was with her while you worked? Didn’t I come when you called me, when you had “emergencies”? If I worked my arse off when I knew you would be there it was because you barely tolerated my presence in the flat. I was so disgusting to you that when I was around the temperature dropped 10 degrees! You couldn’t even look at me! Everything you got me used to, the touches, the cuddles, the sex you stopped.

You never told me about the school conferences and the specials! Of course you didn’t, you were ashamed of living with me! You couldn’t even bring yourself to call me your “partner”, I was always your bloody “best friend!” When we were out together, you wouldn’t even hold my hand! Even if we were miles away from the Yard! 

When I wised up and started keeping up with the school site, you would tell me I didn’t need to go since I would only annoy the teachers. You told me if I went to the parties, I would never be able to take it and would end up costing Watson her friends. You can’t say those things to me and expect I’ll volunteer to go!” Sherlock paced around as he yelled, moving his arms, yanking at his hair.

“Of course not! It had to be me! I had to do all the serious parenting! Signing her papers, coming to school shite, taking her on bloody playdates. Paying the bills, building saving accounts, getting insurance. Oh you were always good for entertaining her! Doing messy experiments and teaching her foreign languages she doesn’t even need! Anything serious, or grown up I had to do anyway, because Mr International Fame is so above it all! Did you really even want to be on that bloody paper, or is it just an excuse to get off at me?!!” John stood at attention, fists clenched at his sides, his face a portrait of fury.

Sherlock was looking at him open mouthed, his hands in his hair, furious;

“Sod it John! Piss off! Serious parenting? What about when she was a newborn and her mother ran away to Asia, while you were dedicated to drinking yourself stupid? Who did all the fucking serious parenting shite? Who walked her all bloody night when she was desperately missing her mother and retched non-stop because of the formula? What about when you were drunk and irrational? Depressed and missing your murderous wife? Or later, so tired from work you couldn’t even think?

I played with her, bathed her, soothed her, made her sodding baby food from scratch! I took care of her at night when she was teething and you had no patience left for anything! Mind you I had to learn as I did it, read up while she napped, while I was on public transportation. I was just as much a bloody mess as you were, a recovering addict, I had cravings and cramps, I was sick to my stomach, I was a wretched, trembling mess, and guilty for her being in that predicament in the first place, but I took my vow to her seriously and I alway have!”

John barked out a laugh: “Of course you would drag up all that old crap. What about these last two years? Always out, always on the go, case after fucking case! You certainly couldn’t be bothered to spend time with her, you were barely home, married to your bloody work! other than when you absolutely had to…”

“I have always made time for Watson. She learned three languages, how to use the scientific method, read maps, and so much more in the time we have spent together. She knows how much she means to me. I know the name of each and every one of her best friends, and crushes...did you know, by the way that her current crush is Jackson? I know her favorite foods by heart, I know her favorite music, books, movies. I KNOW HER!! Sherlock was yelling and pacing, his arms and hands all over the place.

“I know her too! Rosie doesn’t need all that knowledge. She needs a social life, friends, interactions with people. She needs to go out to movies, play sports, hang out with her friends, have sleepovers, not just study science and facts that will only isolate her…” John raised his voice over Sherlock's.

"How convenient for you, since you have discarded me, now Rosie should too? So you’re going to what? Move away, so I can’t be with her? And will you have her keep up with her learning? Will you know when she has tried her best and just needs you to praise her? Will you know when she has something to tell you, but she doesn’t want you to be sad? Will you, Daddy dearest? Oh, wait...she doesn’t even _ call _ you daddy anymore, does she?”

Stunned at the words out of his own mouth, Sherlock gasped, started to hold his hands up in surrender, wanting to say that he had gone too far…

“John! No! I’m so…”

“YOU UTTER DICK!! You bastard! I want to give my daughter a normal life! Let her get to her teens before she knows about forensics, and what poisons could be well hidden by common foods, and what the wounds left by different guns look like!! I want her to grow up doing sane, normal things!...” 

At this, Sherlock took a step back, sort of folded into himself. His head moved side to side and he started reciting “John, no, no, no, I’m sor..”

John went on, undeterred; “I want her to have NORMAL friends, with a NORMAL family…” 

Sherlock put his hands in his hair and started to try to pull it out, desperate; “Enough, that’s enough! Stop STOP!!”

“...SHE WON’T BE ABLE TO HAVE IT, IF ONE OF HER FATHERS IS A …..

At this Sherlock yelped, threw his hands in front of him as if trying to protect himself from a blow. John caught the word, barely, feeling like someone who had been running wild and miraculously managed to turn instead of falling off a ledge. They were left looking into each other’s eyes. Both men knew exactly what word would have come next. John’s knowledge in his shaky breath and his tearing up eyes, Sherlock’s in his face gone clammy and pale and his hands went up to cover his eyes. The room spun around him.

“Watson is ... mine, too... loves me. She is... my girl....can’t...replace...no.”

With that, Sherlock, who could barely hold himself together anymore, turned and stumbled into Mrs. Hudson’s room. John stood alone, gasping, horrified at what had happened. Then he moved, went forward to knock on the bedroom door. He needed to… 

*********

The front door of the flat opened and Mrs. Hudson came in. “Don’t” she warned, looking at his lifted fist. “He’s not going to let you in. You best be going home, John. Rosie is resting, she’ll be better in the morning.” 

At that moment, John would have given a lot to feel Mrs. Hudson’s hand on his shoulder. His voice was shaky; “Did she hear…?”

“Thank heavens, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, because the whole neighborhood heard.” Said Mrs Hudson, and her eyes held an expression he didn’t recognize “John, had you said that word, I wouldn’t be able to call you a friend anymore.” Clearly struggling with her emotions even now.

“Oh Mrs. Hudson. Why? Why did it come to this?” John was about to cry. Mrs. Hudson then took pity on him and hugged him tight. “I don’t know, child. I can’t say where you two went so wrong. We will talk soon, but it’s better you head home now, I have my sweethearts to take care of.”

John left, to his choice of an empty flat, where Johnny Walker was the only friend available to him.

*********

Mrs Hudson opened the bedroom door with her key. She found Sherlock in the loo, sitting on the floor next to the toilet. Gone. Off line. She called his name twice, he didn’t answer. It scared her badly. She grabbed his hand and pulled upwards. He sat up straight. She held him up by his waist and guided him to her sofa. He sat there for a long time. Mrs. Hudson, tea made and croissants laid out, came to sit next to him, hugged him, and whispered loving words to him, and he buried his head in her shoulder, hugged her tight, trembling like the broken creature he was. 

********

Sherlock bitterly regretted the fight. After it, when he could think again, (it had taken the better of three days. He had pushed everything back to tend to Watson.) he realized that while it was true he had raised Watson just as much as John had, Sherlock had no legal standing whatsoever to support it. The school documents, that had started the fight, had never had any legal validity in the first place. His time with Rosie was not court ordered, and therefore not law protected, it occurred solely because of John’s kindness. Now that Sherlock had offended and irritated him, there was no way to force John to let Sherlock have her three days a week if he changed his mind. 

Sherlock was living his days in absolute terror. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, his skin was driving him crazy. He could not go on without Rosie in his life. Simply couldn’t. He had been able to turn on the act, and take care of Watson, see that she took her medicine, that she didn’t have a fever, they played cards and watched TV. He let Mrs. Hudson do the cooking and went through the motions of their weekends together, thankfully scaled down because she was sick, and so sad. 

Rosie had inevitably heard some of the loudest, nastiest bits. There had been a scene when John came to pick her up Sunday morning. Rosie had lost it, saying she wanted to stay with Sherlock, not letting go of the door frame until John promised the visits would not be changed. Rosie relented, but Sherlock remained skeptical. 

**********

John bitterly regretted the fight. He had reduced himself to his pettiest, meanest form. The one he tried to vanquish, the one who had stayed in a sham marriage, without looking for a better option, neglected a daughter, and abused a best friend. He did not want to be that person ever again. Undeniably, Sherlock was as much Rosie’s dad as he was. Nothing would erase or equal the care Sherlock had given Rosie as a newborn. When Mary left, Rosie had never taken formula. Sherlock succeeded where Molly didn’t, helping her get used to the bottle, buying dozens of different formulas until he hit the jackpot with one she would drink. They hadn’t even been a couple yet. Sherlock was right, he probably knew more about Rosie’s thoughts, friendships and preferences than John did, and the love they had for each other was plain to see. They were both terrified that John would take away their visits. He had no intention to do so, he thought.

He had gone by Barts yesterday to see Molly, who happened to be in the morgue. Though John didn’t go in to meet Sherlock, the detective had been there on a case, and the gaunt, haunted person at work there, obviously hadn’t eaten or slept or even showered for days. Sherlock’s right leg shook continuously, an obvious sign of his distress, his fingers banging on his left thigh and every once in a while he would shake his head and scratch his arms hard. Sherlock was not well. “Sherlock, we can’t go on like this, this isn’t good for anyone.” When Sherlock turned around, his eyes were empty, not one emotion present. His eyes flickered over John’s face, but he left, without acknowledging John had said anything. John was suddenly scared for him, for them, what they were doing to their tiny family.

Those eyes would haunt him, stare at him from a broken, fallen Sherlock. John hadn’t dreamt about the fall in years. Now he thought about the dead years. Sherlock had given John a basic version about what he must have gone through. John’s dreams were now filling in the blanks, as he saw Sherlock suffering every kind of torture he could imagine. John would wake up, desperately searching for his other, and find himself alone in his flat, with Rosie in the bedroom. Being so alone would drive him crazy. He had to do something. As soon as was polite, he made a call.

********

Sherlock had spent the week working himself to the bone. Until he couldn’t see straight anymore, until he collapsed from exhaustion. The only way to sleep. Even so, he was plagued with nightmares, where John was replaced by Moriarty, who had hidden Watson and teased him with clues he didn’t understand. When he didn’t go to the Yard all Monday and Tuesday, Donovan herself came over to the flat. Her suspicious look was overturned with softness.

“Hey Holmes, have you eaten? I bring the gift of bad coffee and excellent donuts.”

Sherlock tried for a smile and grimaced. “You do tempt me so, Donovan”.

She pushed a donut into his hand. “Who do I have to go after? Dr.Watson? Give me the word, I’ll find 15 different CBO’s to pin on his arse.” Donovan talked without changing inflection.

“Now, why would you implicate yourself, Sally? This isn’t your battle.”

“It might not be Sherlock, but I know what it’s like to love a little girl that should be your own, and want to do the best by her. I’m here for you. I got you if you want me to help you kick his arse. I’m friends with Lestrade too, and I’m a persistent Yard element.” 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. Sally insisted “and you look like a strong wind could whisk you away.”

She left him half a dozen donuts, files of cold cases and a pat on his upper arm. Sherlock was quite touched by Donovan’s concern, and he felt a little lighter, for a while.

********

[Ben Platt - Bad Habit](https://youtu.be/YSrP6cF1gf8)

Something was wrong. He felt it. Just one more hour and he could pick Watson up from school. His skin itched, his arms, his scalp. The lights were too bright. He could hear Mrs. Hudson clinking the spoon on the rim of her teacup downstairs. He had trouble staying still. 

John’s eyes had looked haunted that afternoon at Bart.

What do you do when you are haunted?

What do you do when you are scared? 

You. Run. 

No.

Please god.

Please 

No. 

No.

Sherlock ran out of Baker Street, got to Rosie’s school and confirmed his worst fear. She hadn’t been in. She was absent. John had taken her. He entered her classroom abruptly, asked for her, then stared at the startled looking teacher, and left without explaining. He called John. No answer. He called again. No answer. Texted. Nothing. He tried to think, to deduce what happened. Crime solving skills apparently offline. 

As he walked back home, shallow breath, all senses heightening his discomfort, he realized what the itching in the crook of his elbows meant. Body memory. Comfort of the last resort. No John, No Rosie. No John ever again. He was at his last resort.

8 years, 7 months, 14 days. Oh well, things of more importance had ended without meeting the 10 year mark. He went home. That business was best left to the dark. Many users who recur after a bout of sobriety end up dead by overdose, having forgotten how much to dose. Something to keep in mind. 

********

Even though Mel Stamford always claimed to be, Rosie found out what “freaking out” meant on Thursday, at noon. Instead of her usual time she was woken up at the crack of dawn. 

“No school today! We are going on a surprise trip!” John exclaimed.

“Trip? Where?” she asked, adrenaline starting to rise.

“To be with a person we should have gotten together with a long time ago.” John said, all businesslike. 

‘Yes!’ She thought, ‘they made up after that horrible fight!! They actually made up! Now we get to go on a trip! Where are we going? Too cold for Brighton, maybe Sussex? To see the grandparents?’ She was so happy, she wanted John to tell her all about the making up and if they were going back home when they came back. But it was supposed to be a surprise, so she kept quiet, with some difficulty.

They took a taxi to the train station, and when Rosie didn’t see Sherlock she didn’t worry. He was probably already at grandpa’s. She had a feeling they were going the wrong way in the station, but she was suddenly panicked she hadn’t brought Bee with her and she brought her backpack in front of her to rummage through it, finding him immediately. She closed the backpack and got on the train. 

She was lulled to sleep. When she woke up, the sun was full on her face, close to noon. Had they been stopped? The trip usually didn’t take so long. 

“John, why aren’t we there yet? It’s taking too long.” 

“Actually we are on schedule. Just maybe two more hours.” Said John, “want some breakfast?” 

“Two more hours? Since when does it take so long to go to Grandpa's?”

“Who said we were going to the Holmes’? We are going to Cardiff…”

“Oh!...so are we meeting Sherlock at the station? What are we going to do in Cardiff, anyways? Will we go on a case?”

John looked at her. Now her cheery compliance made sense. He took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, we are not meeting Sherlock. We are meeting Harry. She lives there, remember? We’re staying with her over the weekend.”

Rosie insisted; “Oh, what time is Sherlock coming in?”

“No. He is not coming on this trip. He is in London.” John said, not looking at her.

Here is where Rosie felt the rush of adrenaline, scaring her badly, it was what she had thought that night. John was taking her away from Sherlock. 

“No!! No!! I can’t be here! I have to get off and go back!!”

“Rosie sit down. It’s just one weekend.” John said in a hushed voice.

“No! I have to go home! I have to! Today is his day! Not yours! I have to go home!” Her voice getting louder and louder. 

“Enough Rosie! I called him and left him a message. I’ll give you guys extra days for three weeks of your choosing. Harry is off from work and I wanted to see her. She said come over and you two can do something special.”

“I don’t care! I want to go home!! It’s Sherlock’s day!...”

“Rosie…”

“No! NO! I want Sherlock! I don’t belong to you today! I want Sherlock! I want Sherlock! You can’t take me away! Sherlock!!” Her voice getting louder and louder; panicky.

The attendant came along, looking at Rosie as if she bit. “May I help in anyway?” Next to John, Rosie was struggling to get up, hyperventilating.

John moved his head no, and Rosie cried; “He’s taking me away from my father!!...”

“Rosamund!!”

“They had a huge fight and now he’s taking me away from him! Sherlock!!” Rosie crying in earnest, out of fear and rage.

Another attendant came and talked briefly with John. Then she took Rosie to the small ‘rest area’ in the front. She came back twenty minutes later, with a raspberry Orangina and sat in her seat, facing away from him. He let her be, and suddenly thought that Sherlock might also be freaking out. He had tried to call various times and Sherlock had not answered. He had left a voicemail and a text. John would deal with him when he got back.

Harry picked up the mood in an instant when her niece, sunny and chatty on skype, was sulking more than the git himself. Rosie did say hello. They liked each other. When they got in the car, as John put their things in the back, she asked for Harry’s phone. She wrote a quick text message and gave the phone back. Harry needed to have a long detailed chat with her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter we have entered in our men's darkest times. It is appropriate then for the inspiring fic to be missselene's [The Night Is Darkest](http://archiveofourown.org/works/14253273). If you have any questions about the tags, pm me at Tumblr where I'm @jobooksncoffee.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has left London with Rosie. On Sherlock’s days. He only meant to find refuge with his sister, unthinkingly leaving Sherlock fearing the worst. Alone in the night, what will he do? Is there anyone to help him? How will they go on from here? While the beginning of this chapter is indeed full dark, with no stars, there is a door, a warming fire behind it, and a long road to discovering how to rebuild oneself when all seems lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks always to my lovely betas  Dovahlock221 and Loveismyrevolution. Without them, this story would still be unfinished and unpublished. All mistakes are mine, as is the restructuring of chapters. Thank you to all my readers and commenters who are making this one of the most fulfilling experiences! Please note there is mention of drugs, and suicidal ideation in this chapter. Feel free to pm me if you need a bit more info.

[Kelly Clarkson-Addicted](https://youtu.be/g6AS9sGazxA)

Sherlock woke up in hell. Everything was too much, the rays of light, the sounds from the street, the unrelenting fire right under his skin. He saw his phone. Text from “undisclosed number”

-Sherlock, this is Watson. John brought me to Harry's in Cadriff. He said it was an emergencu. I didn’t want to come. I miss you. Wait for me. I’m coming back. He promised. I love you. Please, don’t do something stupid Bumble. RWH

He would have cried, but apparently his emotions were off. He finally found John’s texts. 

-If you just picked up the phone, it would be great.

-Don’t say I didn’t try to talk with you!

Voicemail 9:30 am “Ahmm. Sherlock, look. I’m on a train to Cardiff to see Harry. I know these are your days, but it’s an emergency of sorts. I’ll make it up to you somehow. We’ll talk when we get back.”

“An emergency of sorts” what did that mean? Had Harry been in danger, he would have said. Was this how it would be from now on? John would get to decide when he would allow Rosie to come to him? He had been right. He made John mad, now consequences. Rosie, coming home less and less, until it was home no more. He heard the front door 

“Yoohoo! I have pastries and goodies for you two! Let me make tea, and I’ll be right up!”

Once Mrs. Hudson closed the door, Sherlock put his coat and his scarf on, made sure he had cash, and hurried out. He didn’t have the strength to tell her. He let himself out into the darkened streets, 8 years 7 months, 14 days, and “..I’m coming back...I love you...Please don’t do something stupid Bumble” Did she know? Could she feel, what he was going to do? Were they that connected?

********

[Scary Dark and Evil Piano and Violin Music-Lucifer's Waltz](https://youtu.be/ikl-QYQ252Q)

Had he? Had he already? If he did, it had been the worst. No. He was still walking. So confused. Lost? In London? The lights looked too bright. Since when were these streets so noisy? Where to find Wiggins? Funny that! Wiggins now worked for Sanof, didn’t he. This wasn’t the right neighborhood. Nothing looked familiar. He was out of practice. His Belstaff looked out of place. He walked. His legs were made of lead. He saw her text in his mind; “...don’t do something stupid Bumble.” Walk, Holmes, walk.

He was tired. So tired of walking. Shivering. Tired of everything. He wanted to stop. Just stop. Don’t think about John. John doesn’t want you. Want to sleep. I know this door. What? This? Please, oh yes, please! He didn’t know whether to knock, or ring the bell. His arms still itched. He looked back. Oh how it beckoned to him, the siren call of the damned. He turned and rang the bell. The voice: “Sherlock?” alarmed. Brought out of bed? 

His head against the door; “Brother, I can’t any...I... I .. overdose...would you stop it?”

Mycroft in pajamas. Flannels and slippers. Furrowed brow, tense lower eyelids, mouth halfway open, tense. 

“Stop me Myc. stop me.”

“Sherlock! The list! Tell me you made a list!” Scared, frantic,

“I don’t ...yet. I want to. Stop me. I want to overdose. Mycroft. But she said don’t do something stupid.”

Sherlock felt his brother’s strong hands help him inside and take his coat off. He sat Sherlock down on a sofa. Sherlock let Mycroft look up and down his arms. “There are no needle marks. Your shoes are tied, your belt in place.” said Mycroft and he looked pale and badly scared.

“I’ve not ...yet. But I want to...so much…”

“What has happened, brother? You have been doing so well for so long.”

“gone.... He took her.” Sherlock explained the best that he could. Mycroft was able to put the pieces together.

“This, you haven’t used Sherlock. You are having a meltdown. I’ll bring tea…” 

“Yes, anything...stop this, Myc!” 

Mycroft, who had been about to leave to make the tea, saw Sherlock curl up and put his hands around his head, shivering violently. Like when he was a child. Mycroft stayed. He made a fire. He picked Sherlock’s head up, sat down on the sofa, and held him, stroked his arm, his back, rocked him softly. 

Eventually Sherlock talked in broken phrases. “Last week, we fought. I said...bad things. They’re at Harry’s. It’s my days. We had sex that night.” Sherlock stammered.

Mycroft grimaced; “When, Sherlock?’

“Greg’s thing” Sherlock whispered.

“That self righteous, arrogant bastard!”

While Mycroft fumed and planned, Sherlock fell asleep.

He slept through most of the morning and woke up to Mike Stamford’s kind face. 

“Hey there. I hear you need to hydrate, and also to eat something…” He held up a nutritional drink, chocolate flavored, pointed to a case of it on the floor. “...I want to run an IV on you, mate. If it weren’t for your hate of hospitals, I would recommend a nice 72 hour visit, but we’ll make do. Do you need something for the cravings?”

“No hospital, please, and no nothing more. I’ll get through it. We should go to a room for the IV...Mike, you are friends with John…”

“I’m your friend too, Sherlock. Remember that. More relevantly right now, I’m your doctor. What happens here and what we discuss, is private. Are you planning on going back to Baker Street?” Mike asked as he busied himself with some preparations.

“I’m going to stay here for a bit. I don’t really trust myself right now.”

“Ok, good because Mycroft is beside himself with worry. He told me what you said to him. That you wanted to ‘overdose’. Not just to ‘use’, mind you, there is a big difference.”

“Yes, I guess there is. I still want to Mike, but I know I can’t.”

“Sherlock, thank you for being so frank. You are doing the right things here. You are very important to some people, me and my girls included. Don’t fight this alone. Let me refer you to an excellent therapist, who works with adults on the spectrum. He isn’t like anyone else I know.” Mike said, looking directly at him. 

“Mike...Thank you. You have always been a friend. I’ll think about the therapist.”

“Don’t think too much. Give him a chance first. How about that? I’ll keep in touch, Sherlock.” Mike promised.

Greg also stayed in touch. He visited often. Maybe even too often. But it was alright, because he picked Rosie up and then took her to John, as needed.

********

John had gone to Harry for comfort, and gotten tough love. She berated him for the way he had treated Rosie. 

“Really, John! Without even telling her and worse, letting her think you were getting back with His Highness!! Low, brother.”

He had told her all about the fight. Harry knew about breakups. She had a rough one, from her first partner, Clara, who had been her highschool sweetheart, the one mom had found her with, a rollercoaster of an on again off again relationship spanning 15 years. They had a rocky relationship, and a marriage that lasted five years, come to an end when Clara decided she’d had enough, left home suddenly and married a man as soon as possible. Clara never looked back. Harry was now 7 years sober, 4 years married to Meghan.

When John had gone over what he had said, Harry just listened quietly, eyes down hands on her Ginger Beer. When he got to what Sherlock had said, she interrupted.

“Was it true? You never introduced him as your partner?”

“How could I? He didn’t want the people we worked with to know and put each other in more danger. Our friends, they knew” John had thought back to this part over and over again.

“But you would say you two were ‘friends’? That is cold, John. Couldn’t you tell it bothered him?”

“We had agreed on it though! I did think I saw something when James came to visit, but he had just had a spectacular breakup, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him about Sherlock and me.”

“So what did you say when you introduced them? “Harry asked.

“Nothing, really, they had gotten to know each other at the wedding, so I didn’t have to.”

“So you didn’t even hint at the change of status?”

“I told you...I didn’t want to make him feel bad.” John couldn’t look at her.

“What about Sherlock, you idiot? How did he feel about it? Wasn’t he irrationally jealous of Sholto?” Harry was practically pulling her hair.

“But we talked about it! I told him how different the two relationships were! I told Sherlock that what I had with James was nothing compared to what we have...had.” John insisted.

“Do you not understand the word irrational? What does it matter how much you talk, if when the bloke comes around, your lover totally blows you off? I would think you would understand about irrational given how insanely jealous you were of the Adler woman. And she was totally the wrong flavor for your man.”

“One more thing, Johnny, what the fuck was that about telling His Nibs, he was going to annoy the teachers if he went to meetings? Or that he was going to cost Rosie her friends? That sounds more like Mary, than the John that defended him from other people’s insults and always found him ‘amazing’, ‘fantastic’ and ‘extraordinary’.” Harry was getting louder as their conversation went on. 

That had been the worst of it all. To think he had treated Sherlock the way Mary had treated him...there would be no way Sherlock would ever want him in his life again.

John was horrified because Harry was right. And it was a bit of a revelation, wasn’t it. Made him think over the fight they just had. Sherlock had always had difficulty with irony and sarcasm. He could have difficulty finding words when put on the spot. He took things at face value, and in the end, John had been just flat out mean. Sherlock had said John couldn’t tolerate him. If he wasn’t saying it as a tool for manipulating him, it had to mean that was how Sherlock had felt, and that had been the reason why he had thrown himself into cases. He had also said that John had withheld the physical part of their intimacy he had gotten so used to. It was true, John had been one of Sherlock’s few experiences with massages, cuddles, sleeping with a partner. John had cut everything off when he felt wronged. Sherlock had tried time and time again to reach out physically. God, what an idiot he had been! 

********

While Harry combed through John’s hit and misses, Meghan had taken Rosie for a day trip around Cardiff. They came back, carrying multiple bags, one of them with dinner and desert, the others apparently all gifts for Rosie. She even had a beanie with a bee on it that looked very cute on her. The child had a sparkle in her eyes and a naughty grin. Meghan looked a little sheepish. 

“We went all over the place…” she said.”...after visiting the children’s museum and the stores, we went for a mani, pedi and Rosie...well she said it would be ok? I hope it is John.” Meghan said.

John didn’t understand what she meant, until Rosie gave him an evil consulting detective smirk, and took the beanie off. Her hair! Her curls! Gone. The hair that John brushed, and had lovingly learned to style and braid was now shorn off very, very short. His eyes opened wide and he gasped. Meghan paled;

“Oh no! John, so sorry! I wanted to call but Rosie assured me you wouldn’t mind!” Meghan said, dismayed.

Rosie said, looking into John’s eyes, very satisfied with herself; “Don’t worry Meg, John knows this is my hair. I can cut it as I like. If he doesn't, that's alright. We all have to be ok with things we don’t like, don’t we.” With that, she skipped away to open up food bags, while Harry laughed until her stomach hurt. “ If she’s like this now, I don’t want to see the hell she’ll give you when she’s a teen!”

They spent a very pleasant Saturday with Harry and Meg, visiting their very favorite Cardiff places. Meghan and Rosie made headbands to go with her new style and Harry made sure John knew what she thought about him and Sherlock. She had advised he fight to get him back. Pronto.

********

Even though the trip back was long and tiring, Rosie insisted they go to Bakers Street. Once there, they found out Sherlock wasn’t. Mrs. Hudson said that since Rosie hadn’t been in, he had decided to take a case for Mycroft and was working from there. “I’ll let him know you are back, love. He’ll pick you up on Thursday.” When Rosie went upstairs, to leave some presents she had bought for Sherlock, John tried to get some information

“Where is he really? Away on a case?” John asked, trying to appear casual.

Her voice as stern as John had ever heard it, Mrs. Hudson said; “John. You took the child away without a word. His biggest fear. You have some nerve now asking after him. He is at Mycroft’s working on a case for him. I hope you will let Rosie contact him and go to him come the day.”

“Of course I will. I don’t intend to change the arrangement! That was just for the weekend…”

“Oh! Well thank you so much for that. And also for scaring the living hell out of us all. “ And she would say no more, just banged down the cup of tea, and the tasty cranberry scone in front of him.

Back at the flat, he tried calling Sherlock. No answer. To any calls. He sent texts. Explaining. Telling him everything would remain the same. No answer. Only when he asked him if he would still pick Rosie up from school on Thursday, did he get an answer

-Yes. SH

Any other texts remained ignored.

*********

Rosie itched to see Sherlock. She wanted to tell him all about Cardiff and Harry. She wanted him to see her hair. Pepsi and Nyla had gone crazy, Pepsi begging her parents to let her get a matching cut, too. To her disappointment, Sherlock didn’t come to pick her up, but Greg. Not that she didn’t like him: his sparkly expression at her hair was satisfying, just as was the stop for a milkshake and some playtime in the park; Jackson and Millie had been there. Once in the car again, Greg told her Sherlock wasn’t actually at Baker Street, but at Mycroft’s. He was feeling a little under the weather. Did she need something from home before going to Mycroft’s? They stopped by to get her sketchbook, as Mycroft always liked to see her new drawings. They said hello to Nana Hudson.

When they got to Mycroft’s he greeted her warmly, and showed her what would be her room. When she asked for Sherlock, Mycroft told her he was resting, he hadn’t felt well all week. After tea, for which Mycroft had given her the most delicious chocolate dipped biscuits, Sherlock finally appeared, and Rosie almost fell out of her chair in her hurry to get at him and hug him. He smelled as if he had just taken a shower, like lavender and home. He hugged back and sat down on the living room couch with her on his lap.

“How is Harry? And...Clara?” He said, his smile as beautiful as ever, but it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

Rosie was surprised Sherlock hadn’t noticed her hair. “They’re good. Aunt Harry said to say hello to you. _ Meghan _ did too.” Now Watson took a detailed look at Sherlock. He was wearing a loose light blue shirt, some dark, brown? trousers she had never seen before, his dark green gown, and slippers. He had just had a shower. Face nicked while shaving. She stared at the tiny line. Sherlock never nicked himself, ever. Hair in tight curls. No hair product! Not good! He had been sleeping and someone, Greg, probably had woken him up. Sherlock looked as if he had not been out of the house for a while. His poor blue green eyes were kind of glassy, distracted; Dark bags, red (though could be shower). Complexion very, very pale even for him. He looked so sad, even though he smiled at her.

“He really meant it, that we were coming back, you see? He says he doesn’t want our visits to change. I stropped and had a fit, and was really nasty on the way there. The attendant came and she took me to the front of the train. She talked about how she was divorced and her children spent days with her and days with their dad. She was nice and gave me a fizzy drink.”

Sherlock smiled at her as she talked, not taking in really what she was saying, just basking in her presence. She smelled so good. She looked exactly like her father today. He felt her hands on his face. She even sounded like him when she said: “Hey...Earth to Sherlock. You haven’t noticed something really different about me. What is wrong?”

Sherlock looked her over for an alarming length of time, half a minute, when It really should have been instantaneous.

“Watson!! Your hair!!” He touched the curling tips of her very short hair. “It suits you well.’

“John doesn’t think so. He keeps cringing in the mornings when he sees me.” she said smiling. “But Sherlock. Are you sick? You look tired.”

“Yes, Little Bee. I am. I have an illness in my mind. It makes me tired and my thoughts are a little mixed up. But, Mike is being my doctor. He is helping. And I’m not contagious.”

“John can’t be your doctor because of the fight, right?” She asked sadly.

“Because of that, and because I would prefer he didn’t know I’m sick. He’s...we’re broken up. He shouldn’t have to worry about me anymore.” at that Mycroft “humphed”

Rosie didn’t like the fact that Sherlock was sick. That he didn’t really seem much better as the weeks went by, just even skinnier, worried her, but she did take some comfort in seeing Dr Stamford, and Pepsi, every Saturday at Mycroft’s. She took to going to her room and closing the door when she skyped him on her other days

********

[Lost on you - Scott Hoying & Mario Jose](https://youtu.be/PeF1I6jxyss)

“Sherlock, have you thought of it...three weeks, brother. Are you feeling any better?” Mycroft was trying, this time around, to be supportive and patient. Greg was a great help, but it was a challenge, to see one’s only brother, wasting away, for not wanting to admit to needing help.

“Well, I don’t have actual cravings anymore. They only came upon due to what I thought I wanted at the time. Now that Watson and I can still have our days together, I don’t really want to...I want to be here for her.” He said. “I do still think about it, that an end might have been easier for all involved, but I will not do that to my girl. My thought processes are still off. I’m always tired. But how talking about it in a cold office with a pompous stranger can possibly help, eludes me.” Sherlock sighed

“Sherlock, it could be better for you than a visit to hospital. Some kind of assistance is necessary for you to go on with your life, brother. You are not working, you stay inside, you can’t be at Baker Street, and John has been pestering Greg asking after you and why you remain here. I think he believes I’m keeping you against your will.” Mycroft said.

“I don’t want John to know anything about me, Mycroft. We are done. All he needs to understand is that I’m able to take care of Watson on my days.” This was said with fierce passion Mycroft had not seen in weeks. 

“Brother rest assured he will not hear a word about you from me. Believe me, I have no desire to actually see the man.” Mycroft’s face was set in stone.

********

The building where the doctor Mike recommended worked was modern, stark and impersonal. Sherlock and Greg waited in a room with a glass wall overlooking a view of the river. Sherlock’s leg would not still. If there was even a window, through which he could be seen, he would turn around and walk out. When the assistant lead him to the office door, Greg told him he would get a coffee and be back to pick him up. 

Sherlock let himself in and was surprised. Not a stuffy desk in sight. And the window was covered in heavy drapes. There was a sofa, and two armchairs, each of different styles and materials. There were different charts, historical and modern, of the human mind on display. He had some (Insects) pinned up. Books, medical, chemistry, alchemy, many first editions, very valuable. Vintage diagrams of different flying machines and spacecrafts. The doctor, Ian Quentin, sat on the sofa, reading a manual on some kind of yoga. When he got up to shake Sherlock’s hand, Sherlock saw he was 5’10, thin, a good fifteen years older than himself and had solved the issue of hair loss by shaving it all off. The man was dressed similarly to Sherlock himself, finely tailored form fitting white shirt and dark grey trousers with real italian leather shoes. Dr. Quentin seemed very comfortable in his skin and very welcoming. 

“Feel free to take your time browsing about. All of those are things that interest me personally. The insects were a gift from a patient turned friend. Coffee, or tea?”

“Coffee please…” Said Sherlock looking at the historic charts. “...black, two sugars. It would have been easier in those times. Just have me lobotomized.”

“From what my friend, Dr Stamford told me, that would mean quite a loss for the well being of Queen and country.’

“I’m high-functioning sociopath, addicted to drugs, and done. How will talking with you help? I refuse any type of medication, or trips to hospital. I will go ahead with the overdose in its stead.”

“I will guide you to better manage your challenges. I have dedicated myself to finding ways of helping adults who are neurologically divergent or mentally ill. I have researched, consulted with specialists, argued with the conventional, closed minded ones, and tailored my assistance to each individual. Do you have a diagnosis of psychopathy?”

Sherlock sighed: “Must we go over all the ancient history? One psychiatrist said it when I was eleven. Later on, I was classified as being on the Autism Spectrum, either Asperger’s or PDD-NOS, depending on who you ask. I also have been diagnosed as having comorbid SDS. Obviously, my cognitive skills have not been affected.”

“Unfortunately, I have to see the foot to fit the shoe…” He said, smiling a little when Sherlock reacted with a puzzled look and a nose crinkle. “...I must know your history, your diagnosis and the issues that have led you to your current situation. If there are any professional files, you feel may help me with that, we can have them transferred. There will be topics we must talk about, so that I can find patterns of behaviors, both efficient and not, so that we can analyse their results and consider valid alternatives for what is not producing the results you seek.”

“What drives you to choose this career doctor? There must be easier choices within the psychology realm?” Asked Sherlock.

“Now who wants ancient history? My sister. She is my drive. Patricia was moderately autistic. Her language and sensory were compromised. She had the ability to understand and retain concepts, she obtained information about topics she found interesting and she was able to communicate when she was given the time and the medium to do so. Unfortunately, my parents were not wealthy people, though they did the best they could. When they aged, and my father was incapacitated with an injury, they had to send her to auspice. I did everything I could for her, but it wasn’t enough. She survived there for two years. I’ve seen enormous progress in this field, but it still is not enough. I will work with you to the best of my abilities, Mr. Holmes to ensure that you feel confident enough in your own self, to be able to function as you desire, with the people who matter to you.

“Please call me Sherlock. I will come back. I am willing to try, though I am not confident this will work out.”

“Fair enough. I believe the worst of it is the beginning. We will have to talk about the most recent history, what brought you to this point. I will ask you Sherlock. Is there anyone who you think of when you choose not to overdose? Someone that leads you to come to me instead?” Dr. Quentin asked gently.

“Yes. My goddaughter. My little girl. Rosie.”

“Fine. Then we are going to start this for Rosie, until you get to a place where you do it for Sherlock. Mike told me this is the only alternative you find acceptable as treatment, as you will not accept inpatient intervention of any kind. What do you think about visits three times a week for three weeks, we would reassess then.”

“We can always schedule the next visit during the one in progress.”

“Very well, then. If you are amenable, you can send me your previous doctor’s information, so they can share the files. It will cover most of the ‘ancient history’”

“One therapist who at least tried to make a difference and my brother, who has kept files on me spanning from my birth. I believe those will prove the most helpful.”

When Sherlock met Greg in the waiting room, he was surprised to be cautiously hopeful.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another story that I love is [Beauty from Ashes by BakerTumblings](archiveofourown.org/works/12054684/chapters/34772495#workskin)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can not get in touch with Sherlock. Not at 221B, not answering his phone, not even answering texts. Questioning friends and family leads to nothing, and a visit to a Big Brother turned viscous leaves him no option other than backing off. Which turns out, is hard to do. When friends start commenting on how well Sherlock is doing, well, John tries to move on.  
Sherlock has been going to Dr.Quentin, working with him. He is now ready to be back home. Following doctor's orders he engages in activities not shared with John in the past. One small indiscretion, one date and one phone call, and all of the sudden, Sherlock decides to conduct an "experiment".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for my two lovely betas, [Dovahlover221,](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/%20Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution) Everything that is right is thanks to them. All mistakes are mine. I also want to thank the readers who follow this monster of a story, the ones who comment, those who kudoed, those who stay for a chat, or reach out to me on Tumblr. All of you have made this experience so much better than what I expected when I started posting. You guys are fantastic! and amazing!  
*Look at the comment section. Have a question for you! ;)

[ Harry Styles-Falling](https://youtu.be/dRDKoMcgavw);

“So, how is Sherlock doing, Rosie? Isn’t he done with the work for Mycroft? Not back at Baker Street yet?” John had stopped texting Sherlock, as he never answered. Greg had been cryptic at best, only admitting that yes, Sherlock was at Mycroft’s, doing some kind of work for him, and no he didn’t know anything about him being sick, or when he would go back to Baker Street. 

Rosie was no help either: “Oh John, Sherlock is fine. He’s still at uncle Mycroft’s. They are getting along well. If you want to know stuff about him, call him. Or text him, or visit him!”

********

Since John wasn’t getting answers from Sherlock, he started calling and texting Mycroft, with an equal lack of results. When he had tried several days with no result from either, he finally took himself to the Diogenes Club. Demanding to see Mycroft. Who was angry. Furious, even. John, who had never been afraid, or too impressed with him, had to admit he looked like a force to be reckoned with. He didn’t give John much that he didn’t already know. Yes, Sherlock was working for him. No he was not sick. He didn’t know when Sherlock would be back to Baker. When John said that if Sherlock was so busy working, he could take care of Rosie until Sherlock had more free time, Mycroft turned feral. He stood up, head bowed brows furrowed, hands at each end of his desk. When he spoke, it was in a low growl.

John was reminded, not gently, just how much influence Mycroft had. “Do you remember Charles Augustus Magnussen, Dr Watson?” The man in front of him snarled. “... I have much more intimate information pertaining you, your family and your activities and many times the influence he had. Documents that you may swear never existed might easily materialize, oath sworn and signed by impeccable witnesses. It’s in your own best interest to exercise utmost caution when considering my brother’s right to see his little girl.”

Now, for the first time, John felt fear, cold and pitting in his stomach. But, no. Sherlock would never agree...No. not even after all those things they had said…

“I have no intentions of stopping him from seeing my child, Mycroft. He hasn’t communicated with me for a long time. I just want to know that he is alright”

“I believe you gave up that privilege when you took your things and Rosamund and left him. Now, there is nothing else for us to talk about. Goodbye, Dr Watson.” Mycroft spat out

********

Out of options, and with no way to communicate with Sherlock, John had to continue to go on with his life. However, he learned distance and silence really did make the heart grow fonder. It wasn’t easy to be broken up, and moved out, when your ex-partner was ignoring you, and maybe even moving on without you. Ex partner. John found himself thinking about Sherlock constantly, what was he doing, was he taking care of himself, would he ever see him again. The possibility of their fight being the last time they talked, made him want to break down.

Maybe since he couldn’t see him in person, he began to see him in his dreams. Ancient history dreams, of instead of leaving the pool, after Moriarty was called away, Sherlock set off the bomb, shooting at it, seconds before John dragged him into the pool. Then they got separated, and John couldn’t find him, and when he did, it was too late, Sherlock was drowning. In the last seconds of his life, Sherlock tried to talk, but the water coming out of him in streams wouldn’t allow him to and he died without John knowing what he had to say. 

Another dream that plagued him was of seeing Sherlock sitting in his chair, at Baker, a pool of blood at his feet, down his sleeves, streaming down his face. Lestrade, dressed as a doctor, trying to find the wounds, plasters in hand, telling John he wasn’t needed, that he could go. Sherlock greyfaced, his head tilted uncomfortably to the side, the pupils of his beautiful eyes vastly unequally dilated, unresponsive to Johns calls, then screams, then cries. 

John knew instinctively Sherlock was not alright. The need to help him, to take care of him, was strong, but he was not called, not allowed. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t want him.

********

Sherlock went back to therapy, again and again. His difficulties getting out the right words to describe his feelings manifested themselves for Dr. Quentin to see. Sherlock had difficulties sleeping, his ability to eat was greatly reduced. Throughout it all, Dr.Quentin was a steadfast presence, and helped him remain as objective as possible. They started out with the drug use, the feelings of being unworthy and the suicide ideation. The doctor talked about temporarily using Rosie as a guide of what he should want for himself also. 

They analysed different plans for taking care of executive functions for himself, finding a good combination of charts, calendars and apps to help him keep track of self care, caring for Rosie for his home and his finances by himself, as a way of being more independent.

They addressed communication skills, how Sherlock used vocabulary and grammar as armours, and could be very precise and hurtful when he had time to prepare what to say. However, he could experience verbal shutdowns when confronted with unexpected emotions or arguments. Doctor Quentin recommended that Sherlock be more open with the people in his life and let them know this happened to him, so when they experienced it, they did not think of his silence as Sherlock being dismissive, but of needing some time to regain his words.

Throughout the sessions, Sherlock talked about John; their initial meeting, their easy, incredible friendship, the perfect way they worked together. They talked about their relationship, and the breakup. Dr Quentin focused on some of John’s behaviors to let Sherlock see that John had also at times used ineffective and unkind behaviours. From the first session, Dr Q had asked Sherlock what made him happy. Sherlock had had to admit that first time that he did not know. He liked that Dr.Quentin said happy meant the little things, the sight of Watson’s smile, the smell of Mrs Hudson’s cinnamon buns, a drink of good rum by the fire with - his brother. Sherlock liked his assignment. To make a chart with some of these little things. Dr Quentin also gave Sherlock the task to go back to what he liked most of his work, and to pick two activities he fancied and start engaging in them. They were to be things Sherlock had not done with John.

********

So Sherlock started boxing. He wanted to toughen up his muscles and it was something John would have never considered. He signed up to a place he found online and went very early in the morning on non-Watson days. He loved it. The exercise left his muscles burning, the re-learning of techniques took concentration. It took his mind off everything else. He discovered he liked it very much. It went on his chart of happiness. 

Sherlock went back to work. He talked with people, and made an effort to communicate. Six weeks after the wrecked night he had arrived at his brother’s door, he felt confident enough in himself to return to Baker street. Mrs Hudson, who called daily, and Watson were as happy as he was.

*********

“Sherlock, will you take me to the hairdresser? I don’t want to ask John for a haircut.”

It felt very good to be out and about with Watson again. “Sure, Little Bee, We’ll go to the place next to the bakery, that way we can get some pastries to share with Nana.”

“Get a haircut with me? I’ll take a selfie of us together and you can send it to John.”

“Hm. My hair is getting a bit too long. I suppose I can try a shorter look. Not sending pictures to your father, though. Sorry.”

So Rosie had her tips evened out, and Sherlock went with a short haircut. Rosie, loved it, even though he didn’t send the picture to John. 

Sherlock kept going to the Yard, working now on a case of apparent poisoning of a homeless person, whose family members had been looking for him. He was able to report to Dr. Quentin that even though he was in the neighborhood where he used to buy, and even though he still felt urges at times, he had been able to go and interview the witnesses, without having to ask the DI for support once, even though Donovan had made sure he knew she was ready to be called in if needed. After what had been a long stretch with nothing new on the case, one of the witnesses had a name. Sherlock had also felt good about relegating the tip to Stewart, a young new fellow who showed some promise, and who was not an addict in recovery for suicide ideation.

He did feel the exhilaration of a job well done, and that made him think of John. It had been a while, seeing how this was the first day with a lull after the Watson days and the case that came immediately after. Now, without anyone to dissect the case with, and no desire to go box, Sherlock was restless with excess energy. 

[ Franz Ferdinand - Can't Stop Feeling ](https://youtu.be/p1UErb1YzXs)

He walked for a while and found a smallish disco. He decided to go in, as it could count as something he had not done with John. He found it not too crowded, being Wednesday. Sherlock went to the bar, and had a rum and soda, taking in the music. The DJ seemed to have an eclectic taste, going back and forth from older to newer songs. He went to the center of the dance floor when he heard “Can’t Stop Feeling” (Franz Ferdinand), which reminded him of his time in Florida, when he had just met the Hudsons, and he was a stripper. He let himself dance, and had to slap and push away people who liked what they saw. “Mad Love” (Sean Paul) came next, then (“Cake by the Ocean.”) and some older songs by Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars. Sherlock was sweating profusely by the time he gave up. Somebody pulled his shirt, and he turned around to glare at the culprit, then met eyes with the DJ, who smiled at him, giving him a once over, offering him a sealed bottle of water, which Sherlock took. Big, handsome man, ebony skin, brown eyes, playful smile. Interesting music choices. Sherlock felt, flattered? by the man’s attention. He was definitely happy to have come. 

*******

“You sure you haven’t heard anything? Hasn’t he been around?” John asked Molly. “Odd that, right?’

“Well, I have seen him, it’s just, he was ok. Really interested in this latest case, you know? He’s been working well with the D.I.” Molly said.

“Working well with Donovan. I still find it hard to believe. But is he looking good? Like he’s taking care of himself?”

“John, really, why don’t you just call him? Or go upstairs when you go to Baker Street? I mean, he does look well. He’s slim, but not overly so, I think, not that I’ve stared. He seems more...communicative lately. Like he is trying to be polite. Allen has commented on it. He was kind of scared something might come of it, but I think it's just Himself really trying to behave.”

“He doesn’t answer my texts if they’re not about Rosie. And I’m not allowed upstairs at Baker Street. Can’t get around Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock, well he hasn’t exactly invited me.” John complained.

“Well John...he might just be trying to … move on, you know? I mean, he looks alright, he’s using his words, trying to be social, he has a new haircut. He looks very handsome by the way, it really brings out his eyes…” 

John cleared his throat. “I just thought that it’s not like him to…” 

Molly looked at him, with a little grin on her face “... not be available to his ex all the time? John, what do you expect from Sherlock? Have you thought about it? Because I do get the feeling he is quite determined to show himself he can be independent. After all, he is single now. You’ve dated, it would be alright for him to find someone.”

John kept his mouth closed, but thought ‘No! I won’t be alright at all’

***********

[ Pink- U+Ur Hand ](https://youtu.be/jkNnceNJXz0)

Two weeks passed before Sherlock went back to the disco. This time he was dressed in a blue shirt and black leather pants. He looked up to find the DJ looking at him. The man grinned and nodded his head. ‘What the Boys Feel” went on as Sherlock started walking closer to the DJ stand. Again, Sherlock had to slap and push away interested parties that wouldn’t take no for an answer. The DJ then announced he was playing the next song for “his guy” in the blue shirt, “leave him alone, people, my guy just wants to dance!” when Sherlock looked up at the DJ, he found the very tall, strong, attractive black man, winking at him. “You and Your Hand” came on for Sherlock to dance. Some people in the audience hooted. “Crazy” (Lost Frequencies), “Gone” (Kelly Clarkson)- Sherlock enjoyed that one thoroughly. When he raised his eyes, with a smile and saw the DJ looking at him with a very sexy, interested grin, he knew he could pull him tonight, if he wanted to. A part of him wanted to, badly, the man looked so tempting. He lost his nerve, and left.

************

John decided to give dating another try. Something about hearing that Sherlock looked great had made him want to dress up and go out. He had made up his mind to only date women. No man could compare to Sherlock. 

His dates were set up online, there had been two women, ready to have a good time in bed. John wasn’t looking at dating as a way to find that special someone that could be an ideal mom for Rosie.

Then he met Angie, tall, wavy, long, dark hair and soulful brown eyes. Very smart, liked to talk about anything. Fun, active personality. They went out both aware they were in it for grown up companionship, rather than a romantic relationship. Their dates went well, and he really liked her, but they were not a couple. Angie was not interested in family life, or having children, which suited John fine. This week, she had rotations with another caregiver as a hospice nurse, so she could date on a wednesday, which thanks to Molly, he could do tonight.

*******

That day Sherlock was back on the case of the poisoned homeless, which was proving to be harder than he originally thought, now that they had found a second body, apparently killed in the same manner. While the method of delivery was the same as before, the victim was a different demographic, and the drug was different too. He was trying to isolate one elusive component when Molly came in to talk to Allen. When she finished with him, Sherlock approached her; 

“Hello Molly...good to see you. How is your cat? And your boyfriend, Toby?”

“Sherlock! Hi. Toby is fine. He is my pet. My ex boyfriend’s name was Edward. We separated last month. I’m fine about it though.” She said, smiling to show how fine she was. “Oh, since you are here. Any idea about what Rosie may like to eat for dinner? I didn’t ask John.”

“She’ll be alright with almost anything if you get her to help prepare it. There are few things she objects to, such as Brussel sprouts, cooked carrots and beans on toast. Just remember to present her small portions. Other than that, you should be fine. Is she staying with you tonight?”

“Yes! John’s date has the evening off this week so...oh! Sorry!”

“Not a problem, Molly. We are broken up. It's fine.” He said, though it wasn’t. 

********

He decided to leave Bart, even though he hadn’t finished his experiment. As he started to go home, he had an idea. He decided to check something first; 

-John. Couples in long term relationships or marriages may separate or divorce. Separate is like a break, and divorced is broken up, parted ways permanently. Like we are. SH 

-Hey! Hi!! How have you been? This for a case? Married/ divorced, committed relationship/ broken up.

-We? SH

-We?

-Are that? SH

-Are you alright?

-Yes, are we?” SH

-Broken up? Yes Sherlock, we have been broken up for over 6 months now. Is this for a case?

-Yes. I need some help with the perp’s motives. We could have dinner. SH

-Sorry, timing a little not good. I’m with a friend.

-That’s fine. SH

-We should definitely catch up, though. It has been a while.

-Goodbye John. SH

John felt his blood run cold. Sherlock had never said “goodbye” to him. In all the time they had been together, not even when he left with his luggage and his daughter. This was the first time. It felt ominous.

********

Sherlock had known John was on a date. They were broken-up. As in definitively. Of course, he knew this, It didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t the reason for the heaviness he felt on his chest. That was the weather. Old scars and such. So Sherlock decided to go to the club. His mind was circling the solution to the case. Before, talking it over with someone would have helped Sherlock would have found some sort of detail that was missing, but with no one to talk to, he decided to clear his mind. He went by Baker Street first to shower and change.

DJ saw him immediately, with his black leather pants and a green shirt. They made eye contact, lingering for a while, Sherlock grinned. If John could go on a ‘date’, then so could he. Tonight. Music man started Sherlock off with “Mad Love”(Sean Paul, David Guetta)”, “Familiar” (Liam Payne) then “Sorry, Not Sorry (Demi Lovato). DJ gave it a long intro. Sherlock got into it and danced his perky arse off to it. DJ hooted.

[ Demi Lovato - Sorry Not Sorry ](https://youtu.be/0mHPrkhE_Tg)

********

John had had a long day. He enjoyed his time in the shelters, talking and tending to the veterans, but he was finding bureaucracy difficult to handle when he needed support and care for the men. To unwind, he had asked Angie for a date. She had been delighted to accept. They had been friends with benefits for almost a month. Angie had been set on watching a movie, a paranormal mystery thing that John had “solved” within the first few minutes. 

Then John received a text from Sherlock and lost further interest in being out, as he wondered why Sherlock had chosen today of all days to finally communicate, even if only for a case and ask what he had, but Angie wanted to go to a club for drinks, after, so they went to one close to the theater, that didn’t have too long a queue. The bar was on a tier, so if they wanted they could see the dancers and the DJ.

They were having their drinks, when a new song came on, and they heard someone hoot. Angie smiled, looking out at the dance floor. “Well, somebody is having fun!” John half thought he may have to take Angie to the dance floor in a minute, when he turned around to look at the dancers, his heart speeding up when he spotted Sherlock, apparently alone, not just dancing, but putting on a full performance; “Now I’m out here looking like revenge, feeling like a ten…” Oh yes, he looked like a ten alright, God, he could dance. It was almost indecent “Yeah I know how bad it must hurt to see me like this, but it gets worse....” God yes, did it hurt to see him down there and not be able to be there next to him.“...The grass is greener under me, bright as technicolor, I can tell that you can see…” John could see clearly that Sherlock was by far, the most beautiful human being in the club. His shirt was shiny, the bloody leather trousers must be painted on. Sherlock had cut his hair very short, his curls barely visible. John wanted to go down there and take him home with him, very badly. But he was on a date, and they were broken up.

They (He) watched Sherlock dance a couple more songs, until Angie started getting uncomfortable with having her date’s attention, divided between her and the bloke on the dance floor, and demanded to be taken home. John almost couldn’t, lingering as she got up, turned towards the vision on the dance floor, wanting...but there couldn’t be a repeat of the last time...it would finish him. So John left. Sherlock didn’t even suspect he had been there, watching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following story is important to me for a very important reason; It is so well written and convincing, it made a true blue johnlocker need reassurance that Sherlock and John do belong together. This lovely person came to me for a fix-it fic recommendation, and an incredible friendship was born! So, ["Entangled" by misselene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653717/chapters/23574870)  
All songs found here [ Will You Take Me Home? ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e) on YouTube


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes his decision, and does not regret it. His dislike for new people has been put aside for the moment. He definitely is benefiting from this friendship. New experiences and mini holidays tend to lift the spirits. John is having trouble thinking about anyone else. His ex is so hard to find. People seem to know things John isn't aware of...  
When his suspicions are confirmed, what is he to do? How will he cope? Step back? Give up? Not Captain John Watson. Renewed energy and iron will seems what is in order to reclaim what once was his. He knows Sherlock. He can get him back. Can he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big Thank You to my beloved [ Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) for their help with the story, their reviews of this chapter, the hand holding and the tough love through my "should I/ shouldn't I" I went through about posting.  
I'm happy to say that all my lovely readers that contacted me got it in one!! My fantasy turned out to not be exclusive! Wishing the best of health and happiness always to all the beautiful actors that inspire these characters. Let's see what their completely imaginary counterparts get up to (Heed the tags, lovelies, it's on!)

[Calvin Harris ft. Rihanna-This is What You Came For ](https:/youtu.be/BYCmzvTtimE)

DJ announced his last set of the night. He put on “New Rules” to keep Sherlock dancing. Followed it with “Came Here For Love” (Sigala, Ella Eyre) , At “...I came here for love…” Sherlock took a deep breath and looked up to find the DJ looking at him, Sherlock smiled at him.. “Therapy” (Armin Van Buuren). At some point, he held up a new water bottle for him, which Sherlock gratefully took. He mixed in “Dangerous (Roxette). Sherlock danced his way closer to the DJ stand. “Complicated “ (David Guetta-Sia). Their eyes locked. DJ winked, Sherlock smiled. DJ announced his last song was “This is What You Came For (Calvin Harris)” Sherlock danced for the DJ, who took his fill of looking him up and down. Sherlock lip synced the lyrics: “...I say, your place when we leave.” Then gave him a saucy grin

When the song ended, Sherlock looked up at the DJ, nodded and left. DJ found him right outside the staff entrance, smoking. They introduced themselves. “Sherlock” and “Luther”,said DJ in a voice lower and gruffier than Sherlock’s own. Sherlock took a good long look at him. This attractive man was so different from John Watson, they might as well be from different planets. Sherlock liked that a lot. Outside, towering over Sherlock, the older man was sex on legs: tall, dark skin and eyes, looking drop dead handsome in his black shirt, muscles clearly defined, commanding, and very attractive. 

Sherlock was somewhat frettish, but he was determined to prove to himself that he could be found attractive and be attracted to someone other than John. They talked easily for a while, about being a DJ, and an exotic dancer, and DJ, Luther, told Sherlock he was taking a break from his home in NY, where his youngest son and his ex wife lived. He was head of a security company, back in London to visit his daughter. The DJ gig was a favor for his club owner friend, a bit of fun. 

Sherlock blurted out, unable to stop himself; “You came out as bisexual later in life. Your three grown up children have accepted this. Your wife left you when you told her. You still have feelings for her, and she has most probably gotten over her shock and will welcome you back when you are ready to ask her again. Which is not yet. ” He saw Luther standing with a smile starting on his open mouth and added:

“After your divorce, you had an affair with a man that didn’t quite work out. It ended and you decided to travel. You have had some one-nighters with men, but you haven't liked that much.” 

Luther looked shocked for a minute, then shook his head “That was incredible! Did you research me?” he smiled.

“No. You were attracted to me from the first night you saw me, but you wanted to make sure I didn’t come with a boyfriend. You could have pulled your choice of men, but you waited until I flirted with you. Interested in more than a one-nighter..’

“Fair enough. How did you know I had a relationship with a man that didn’t work out?’ Luther’s smile was encouraging.

“Women do catch your eye sometimes, yet you never flirted with any of them. You looked more at the men, full body looks. No preference for a man a night, you are used to more intimacy. You keep a key chain that has a heart with “Husband” on it. If you were a widower, you would be wearing her ring. If you were done with her, you would have thrown the key chain away. You have a faded picture with three teenagers that look like you. They are grown up now.”

Luther’s smile grew and he palmed Sherlock’s shoulder. “That was truly impressive, Sherlock. It’s true, I’m not that fond of one-nighters, though well, I’ve had some. I much prefer a friendly arrangement. Would you like to come over to my place for a drink? We could see how it goes from there.”

Sherlock’s nerves got the best of him and he blurted out; “Is it being unfaithful to go with you, if I am broken up from my partner? His hands were slightly unsteady.

The DJ looked at Sherlock for a while, thinking. He seemed to come to a conclusion then answered; “If you two are truly broken up, what you do is your business alone, baby. But you should only do what feels right to you. Both of us have to be ok with this”.

Sherlock looked at the time. By now John was most likely at his date’s, engaging in what couples did after being out. Sod it. Sherlock was not going back to Baker Street to be alone, thinking about that. He offered a small tight smile. 

“He said not separated. He said I am broken up from him. It’s been 6 months and 3 weeks now. So this is my business, alone. I want to go with you.” Sherlock said, determined.

Luther caught his choice of words. He smiled and took Sherlock’s hand in his huge one. They walked to his car, and went to Luther’s nice flat. Luther talked a bit about the club owner friend who asked him to DJ and how they knew each other since they had a rock band in highschool. He asked Sherlock about his hobbies, then about being a Consulting Detective a bit. He made some drinks for them. 

[Cyndi Lauper -All Through the Night (from Live...At Last) ](https://youtu.be/iU1ywV2BsB8)

As Sherlock talked, Luther touched his arm, then his neck, then put his hand on Sherlock’s cheek and jaw. When he kissed Sherlock, Luther’s lips were warm and lush; he sucked on Sherlock’s lower lip, then, delicately licked, until Sherlock opened his mouth, surprised at how something that felt so different when he did it with another man, could still feel so good. Sherlock kissed back, amazed to feel that he wanted this, and he wanted more. Luther got closer, held Sherlock to him, did some more gentle touching. When Sherlock relaxed a bit and started touching Luther’s arms, his back and his face, Luther stood up, and held his hand out to him. 

Sherlock went to bed with a man other than John, for the first time in 9 years. They stood in the room next to the bed. Luther was big. And gentle, and kind. When Luther took off his shirt, and exposed that toned, gorgeous chest and those strong arms, Sherlock remembered what desire felt like. Just plain_ want _ that went from the eyes straight to the cock and lit the skin on fire. The man opened Sherlock’s shirt, turning the lights down when Sherlock asked him to. Sherlock’s stomach did flips, and he felt himself breathing fast. He felt scrawny and underfed next to Luther, but the man seemed mesmerized. He used his hands to gently touch Sherlock’s chest, and arms. Luther asked him; “Does this feel right?” Sherlock thought back to his sessions and asked him to use firmer touches, which Luther did. He then followed the outline of Sherlock’s leather trousers with his hands, with the same, deep touch he used on Sherlock’s chest and arms. “Oh baby, the way you make these look! I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.” Luther opened Sherlock’s fly and lead him to lay down on the bed.

Sherlock was panting, but whether from nerves or actual lust, he couldn’t tell. Luther kissed his lips and sucked on his tongue. Luther raised himself up to look at Sherlock as if he were a work of art.

Sherlock could feel Luther’s warm breath on his chest, his neck and then his mouth was on Sherlock’s nipples, making Sherlock gasp and moan loudly. His cock, steadily hardening under Luther’s body and his touch, started leaking. Luther looked into his eyes, his fingers on Sherlock’s trousers. He motioned taking them off. “Is this ok, baby?” 

“God yes, but you too.” 

Luther took the trousers off reverently, like someone fulfilling a long held wish, like someone unwrapping a Christmas present; “Oh baby you are perfect!” He undressed much quicker.

“You are huge.” Said Sherlock. Luther smiled. Soon Sherlock held Luther in his hand. His anxiety was melting away; he was beginning to enjoy this, keeping himself firmly in the here and now. Luther lay down on Sherlock to rut against him, holding them both in his hand, while Sherlock’s hand explored the new terrain on top of him, panting and close. Sherlock's wandering hand massaged a firm round arse, as they kissed and Luther took his hand off to cover it with lube. Sherlock used some too, and when Luther took both their cocks together again, Sherlock moaned “Nggh I’m… aghh” He reached out to touch Luther’s rim and circled it with his slickened fingers, and that was it for the bigger man. With a shout he was spilling over his own hand, while he bit down on Sherlock’s neck, close to his shoulder, and that was it for Sherlock, too. 

“Oh baby, that was so good, you are beautiful baby, so gorgeous, so good.” The man’s evident happiness, his praise and the way he looked at him made Sherlock feel good about the experience. He could feel himself smiling. Luther got up to the loo to wash himself up and brought wipes for Sherlock. “You can stay, alright? Nobody is going to bother us here.” Sherlock was quite overwhelmed by his first John free orgasm in so long, that he surprised himself by falling asleep in Luther’s big, strong arms. It had been so long since he was held like this, since someone stroked his hair and made sure he was under the covers. The big man woke him up in the morning by stroking a different part of him, slipping a condom on him and taking him in his mouth, fitting all of him and sucking just right, then sucking just at the tip, and it had been so long since he had been on the receiving end of this particular act that it was almost over way too soon. The last time John had...Nope. Shut that thought down. It was certainly mind blowing, his head blanking out of everything. Later, Sherlock took a shower and shared a coffee and toast breakfast with Luther. He asked Sherlock for his phone and put his number in it. 

“Are you alright, baby? Enjoyed yourself? I’ll be in London for a while still and I would love to see some more of you…”

“I believe you have already seen about all there is to see. Will you still be at the club next week? I can’t see you over the weekend, but Tuesdays or Wednesdays are good. And yes I enjoyed...being with you.” Sherlock realized it was true. He had liked Luther. Overall, he had none of the emotions of when he was with John. The sex had been good, more than good. He had enjoyed this man, and the man had been kind. Luther had kissed him and caressed him and had even cuddled with him afterwards. Sherlock did want to see him again. Luther had made him feel happy. His mind was clearer, and his anxiety seemed to have lessened.

“That’s great, baby. I’ll look for you next week then.” Smiled the man.

*********

It turned into a standing “date”. Sherlock would spend his Rosie day afternoons with her, playing and listening, completing school projects, and playing karaoke. Watson had a great singing voice and tone and was totally into it at the moment. On the other days, Sherlock boxed, checked in with the Yard (or Donovan), went to therapy, now twice a week. Dr. Quentin was divided on the subject of sex. On one side, it was a vastly different experience than what he had with John, and it had made it on Sherlock’s “Happy List” on the other, Dr. Q felt the potential for emotional dependence was present. In the evenings of his non-Rosie days, he went dancing and left with Luther. It was certainly a learning experience. Luther was clearly very knowledgeable about sexual acts and techniques, and loved getting Sherlock up to speed.

*******

It had been about six weeks, when coming back to Baker Street, daybag in hand, he found Lestrade waiting.

“Hey stranger! Long time no see! Where are you coming from? Couldn’t get through to you these last few days. Weren’t you supposed to be boxing?” Greg was just full of questions

“No, coming back from a short business trip.” Sherlock answered, popping the last “p”.

“Business trip? Was it a case? Where did you go? Lestrade was all ears now.

“Not a case. I went to Paris.” Sherlock said, not looking at Lestrade. “What do you wa...How are you, Gavin?”

“I’m fine Sherwin…” Both men laughed. “.... wanted to check in and brought you breakfast, just to see you strolling down the street, looking like the cat who got the cream.”

“Funny that, since it’s exactly how I feel”

“Were you with John?...” Greg couldn’t help himself. 

Sherlock crinkled his nose and shook his head furiously. “I made a friend at a club a while ago. He invited me to travel with him for his meeting.” 

Greg’s eyes went wide at that. He went on “...Sherlock you are being careful??”

“Yes mother, no chance of neither me getting pregnant nor getting him pregnant,…”

Greg looked at him stunned.

“Your face!” Sherlock laughed; “Luther is just a friend I have sex with. He is kind and lovely and going back to the States soon…”

“I just don’t want you hurt, you sod.”

“Don’t you do any actual work anymore Lestrade? You must enchant my brother. That would explain why he keeps you on the roster with all the laying around you do here. It would also explain the fact that he is now able to move the facial muscles necessary to smile, on occasion.” 

“Shut up!...” He said, flustered nonetheless. “It's just good to see you… I don’t know?...happy? Finally over the breakup?”

“Oh!... I don’t know...It’s just...I…” stammered

“Hey, all I mean is I’m happy for you. If this bloke is good for you, I say carry on. You deserve some fun.”

“If this is a trick to try to get me to approve your efforts at wooing my brother, you honestly don’t need to. You...are like a ...brother to me already...Gabe? I hope you know that.”

“That...that means a lot to me Sherlock. I have always felt you are my pain in the arse, posh, little brother

********

John looked at himself in the mirror. He should stay in and sleep. Staying asleep had not been easy lately. He kept thinking about things, such as Sherlock at his wedding. “The two people who love you most in the world…” Or Sherlock, quietly naming Mary as his shooter. His poor face when John had hit him at hospital. Sherlock’s expression when he heard John say “as always” to Sholto’s question “You two still ‘best friends’? 5 years into their relationship.

It had taken Harry’s harsh talking to, for him to begin to see things from Sherlock’s perspective. James had been abroad for a long time, in a relationship for almost 8 years, and had a terrible fall out. His return to England had been because of it. Sholto had contacted John and sounded and looked so sad, John hadn’t had the heart to tell him about Sherlock and him. As Harry had said, he could see so clearly now just how much of an idiot he had been. Sherlock had always been very jealous of Sholto. John thought of how he would have felt, if Sherlock had told Irene Adler they were “just friends” if she came around to visit him. Sherlock would have never done that, though. *When his old lover, from the time he was away, Adrian, came from South America to London with his British husband and paid a visit, Sherlock had introduced John as “my life partner” and held his hand and made sure he sat next and very close to John. On the outings they had with what had actually been a lovely couple, Adrian’s husband, Tom, had been very cautious around Sherlock initially, obviously jealous, but he had relaxed once he saw Sherlock and John together. Come to think of it, John could trace Sherlock’s increasing obsession with work back to Sholto’s visit.

These incidents had a common denominator. John had taken Sherlock for granted, or had been mean, even unkind towards him. The comment Harry had made about him behaving like Mary had stung John and made him think. Unfortunately, it was too late. Sherlock never initiated contact with him, nor did he answer any text not specifically about Rosie. John tried to tell himself it was normal, and that it was what he had wanted when he moved out, to be free of Sherlock. 

The truth, however, was reflected in his sleepless nights, his half a stone weight loss, his constant worrying over the other. John missed Sherlock, Viscerally, deeply. Now, when the Detective wouldn’t even give him the time of day, was when John realized he may have moved out, he may have said he ended their romantic relationship, but he had never intended to terminate it, not really, because in his heart of hearts, he still loved Sherlock. Loved him and wanted him back.

*******

Those hopes took a hit, when a couple of weeks later, John tried, with no results, to find out if Sherlock could look after Rosie an extra night, so he could take a night shift for a colleague who was going out of town. Even when using “Rosie”, Sherlock was not answering his texts. After several tries and with no patience left, he decided to call Greg. “Oi! Do you know if Sherlock is on a case? I’m texting him and getting no response. I wanted to see if he wanted to look after Rosie tonight, before I asked Mike. I have a shift to do.”

“Eh, what’s tonight, Tuesday? Um, he usually isn’t available on Tuesdays or Wednesdays, has sports and-things.” Greg said.

“Well, Rosie would stay overnight, she could be at Mrs Hudson’s until he gets home. He usually answers texts with Rosie’s name in them. I wonder what is going on?” John asked.

“Yeah, night time could be a problem. He usually has ...stuff to do in the evenings. They are the only evenings he has for himself, right? If you don’t have anyone to keep the Rose, I’ll take her. I can even go to your place if you want.” Greg offered.

“Thanks, but she’ll be alright with Pepsi at Mike’s. What stuff in the evenings can he possibly have? “ John was sincerely confused.

Greg stayed in uncomfortable silence for a while. “Well John, we’re all blokes here, you guys are done, so uhm, what he does in his, uh, free time, well, it’s up to him, right? At least now he’s not staying in by himself, curled up on the sofa. Anyway, uh, happy that the little Rose and the Stamford girls get along. And you owe me like 4 months of pints. I’m your friend too, you know. I promise no to say a word about Himself. Let me know.” and he promptly finished the call. 

The conversation stuck in John’s head all day. He decided to take a break between shifts for dinner, and went to the Yard. Donovan found him talking with some of the older men. “Dr. Watson. May I help you?” She asked, arms crossed.

“Donovan, have you seen Sherlock? I’ve been having difficulty reaching him. It’s child related.”

She made a face; “Good luck getting a hold of him today or tomorrow. He has made it clear here not to contact him evenings on Tuesdays or Wednesdays unless it’s a 9.”

“So no cases Tuesday or Wednesday?”

“No new cases. No leg work. He does send in computer work, sometimes returns calls. I did have him come in to sign some of the paperwork, not that it was easy, the bastard. Came in, huffing about, in a great big hurry.” Donovan said with a smirk.

John was not liking this, and dreading the feelings building up in his body. The anxiety, the hollow feeling in his gut. “Did he say what the hurry was about?”

Donovan had a look of satisfaction when she said; “No, but if I had to take a wild guess, it had something to do with the gorgeous bloke that came in with him. He seemed enchanted with Himself’s antics.” Sally looked straight at John. “Let him be, Dr Watson. He’s been looking better, healthier.”

John did the night shift in a daze. Sherlock had a bloke. His Sherlock. He went through different scenarios in his head. He imagined Sherlock with a gorgeous, dashing man, his own heart breaking, despair announcing itself already. Even so, when he made it back to his flat, he fell into an exhausted sleep. He woke up, remembering the night he and Sherlock had after Greg’s Retirement Party, how Sherlock had looked at him, how perfect it had been, and resolved to not give-up. He knew Sherlock better than anyone else. He knew how to win him back.

*******

[Samuel Barber - Adagio for Strings ](https://youtu.be/izQsgE0L450)

Sherlock felt a bit not good about going with Luther to this event, an orchestra night for charity the man had been invited to by some of the people he kept contact with. It was Friday, and Watson had stayed at Mrs Hudson, who had sent him on his “case” saying “she’ll be fine!” Though Watson didn’t look fine, she looked upset he had chosen to take this “case”. But Luther had asked, and it had been so long since Sherlock had heard a live orchestra playing classical music, in agreeable company, that he had been looking forward to it since last week. Tonight, Luther was looking great, charcoal suit and waistcoat and blue shirt. Sherlock had his black suit on with his white shirt. 

Luther couldn’t keep his eyes off Sherlock for long. The music was beautiful, Sherlock was mesmerized. Sitting in the balcony seat with him, a small smile, his hands together as if in prayer, the Detective moved his head softly to the gentler pieces. 

Towards the end, Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings came on, and Sherlock gasped and closed his eyes. Luther looked at the orchestra, but was distracted by a hitching breath. Tears were rolling down Sherlock’s cheeks. He did nothing to wipe them off. Luther grabbed one of his hands. Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled, tears still falling. Luther took out his handkerchief, dried his tears and held on tight to Sherlock’s hand. How could Watson have left him? After years of living with this amazing man, how could he have walked out? 

On a night like tonight, Luther almost wanted to throw caution to the wind and tell Sherlock he did want a relationship, that what they had could be so much better if they took one more step. It could be great, but Iyana’s face kept coming up; both how she had been when she was just a girl and she told him she loved him for the first time, and when she told him he was free to go, to have his midlife crisis looking for men, since she was no longer enough. Luther knew he was not the only one with conflicted feelings towards his ex. That did not stop him from drying Sherlock’s tears, taking him home, in spite of his weak protests that he had to go back to Baker Street. They came together gently, softly, trying to erase the hurt his ex had left behind, like open wounds. 

*******

“Beverly, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been doing this wrong. I walked out on Sherlock, because that is what I do. When I get angry, instead of dealing with the real trouble, I walk. This time I left him. I am as much to blame as he, or more, for the troubles we’ve had. Now, I miss him terribly, I know I’m the one who ended it and it’s too late for us to be what we were, I messed that up, but maybe, we can get along well enough to raise Rosie between us. I need to be able to communicate with him, Beverly. I want you to help me stop running away.”

Beverly was delighted to hear this: “This is such a positive development John! I’m very pleased you have realized there is more to the separation than just Sherlock’s working habits and unpredictability. If you would like, we can figure out what contributed to the problems, and start to look for healthier ways to cope….” They started charting out the issues they would work out; Communication, anger management, letting go of the abusiveness of his past relationships… and his childhood.

It was time for John to look for things that he liked doing. In his case, cycling, cross training and drawing, Rosie was his main muse, but Sherlock was there too, of course he was. He started making little comic strips with Rosie. The first one had been Rosie running her honey experiment, standing on a kitchen step to reach the counter and the tip of her tongue out the side of her mouth, spooning honey into different bowls with water… The next one was of Rosie taking off her beanie to reveal her extra short hair… This was fun

*********

Text message:

-Sherlock, Rosie has a birthday party this weekend, for her friend Jackson. It’s on Saturday. I can go instead of you, and you can take Sunday with her, if you want.

-What is this insistence with the idea that I can not attend birthday parties with Watson? Saturday is my responsibility, and therefore I shall be there. I am a consulting detective of international fame, surely I can manage three to four hours of children playing, singing, running around and having tons of sugar. For your information, Rosie and I have already chosen the gift for the young lad. A pirate costume. Rosie assured me Jackson has a healthy obsession with Black Beard. Furthermore, the party is in a park, with various activities. SH

-You git! No wonder you are all willing to go! Don’t think that being outside excludes all social interaction!

**…..**

**…..**

-I didn’t think anything of the sort. Merely that you said you thought it unfair that it was your sole responsibility to take Rosamund to social gatherings. I have this one covered, John. SH

John was so happy Sherlock was finally answering his texts he slipped and called him “git”. John couldn’t be sure what had gone wrong, but he thought it might have been calling him by what was practically a pet name between them. Sherlock did not respond to any more texts. John thought he might just go to the party anyway. It would spare Sherlock if the party got to be too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A loving thank you to the beautiful people that continue to come back for more and comment and message and just carry on conversations. You mean the world to me, and keep me going. Thanks for the ideas!  
This incredible story is definitely my favorite non-Johnlock one, to the point that I would be happy if Sherlock chose this relationship: [ Extricate- An Ex Files Special by 7PercentSolution ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/14504154) If you haven't yet, go read all her universe! Especially the "Nothing Made Me" series, the above story is a part of.  
As always, find the music for this story at the[Will You Take Me Home? playlist on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHg-J9VGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Birthday Party!! There will be bubbles! there will be a rock wall to climb! Ice cream! Face painting! a jumpy house! The whole nine yards! Who is this little boy? Also; "5 Ways to Kill Your Chances With Your EX!" and "Does Whisky go well with Pizza?" Also, "Somebody Would Benefit From a Mute Button". Yaay!! Rosie's Friend turned 10! and he has a Pirate costume complete with hook hand and toy cutlass...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks be given to my unbelievable betas, who go above and beyond, even in these trying times! [ Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) Both are talented authors, and please check out their latest stories!  
The "E" for this chapter is very, very Explicit! Careful!

“Sherlock, look! This is Jackson! He is the Birthday boy! Jackson, this is Sherlock Holmes!” Rosie introduced them as Jackson stopped to say hello to her.

“Your dad who does the experiments and the detective things?” The boy asked, eyes opening wide.

“That would be me. Many happy returns, Jackson.” Sherlock was trying to remain calm as he had just learned Watson referred to him as “her dad” to her friends.

“Thanks! Do you think you could teach me how to solve crimes? Or if not how to run experiments?” Jackson asked.

“We could give both things a go, if it's alright with your parents and you make up your mind what you want to do first.” Said Sherlock, 

“OK! I’m going to tell my grandpa! He loves detectives!! He will be thrilled there’s one at my party. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Holmes.” Jackson ran along.

Sherlock was unexpectedly enjoying himself at the party. It was in a park, and he didn’t really have to socialize. Watson was so happy he had come with her. She had dressed and commanded him to dress like her, burgundy slacks and a light blue denim shirt he was unaware he owned. Now they were manning the bubble station. Children were making and chasing bubbles and asking Sherlock to show them how to make big ones. Machines, bubble guns and old fashioned wands were provided and it was the most fun Watson and he had had in a long time.

********

John walked through the park, looking for Rosie. This was good. He could at least take over the socialising part for Sherlock. Already he had greeted half a dozen parents who knew him by name. He saw Rosie, laughing, chasing bubbles. As he walked towards her, he looked around for Sherlock. He really shouldn’t be too far away. Rosie turned and yelled something to someone behind her and a multitude of bubbles surrounded her. John finally saw Sherlock and his heart jump started. He was holding a giant bubble machine, making hordes of bubbles go up and over the children. Sherlock was looking at the bubbles, and enveloped in a cloud of them, smiling faintly. John let go the breath he had been holding, the vision was all the truth he needed. He loved this beautiful, impossible, intolerable man. He would never be able to stop. They had to talk. Maybe the party could be their opportunity.

Rosie saw him and came running to: “Jooooooohn!!” She screamed! “Yay! You came! Come make bubbleeeesss!!”

John hugged her. “Looks like you got that covered.” 

They walked towards Sherlock, and found him handing over the bubble machine to Mark’s dad and showing him how to use it. Rosie ran to talk to Jackson.

“Hello John.” Sherlock said very formally, looking surprised.

John couldn’t help feeling a little rejected. “Hi you! That was some fantastic bubble making there.” 

Sherlock gave him an odd, distrusting look. “It was a bubble machine, John. That’s what it does.” 

John looked away from his face, saw the shirt. “Hey, isn’t that mine?”

“Oh! Is it? No wonder I didn’t recognize it. I was commanded into wearing it today.” Sherlock waved at Watson. 

"She is so happy you came with her. It looks like you are both enjoying this.”

“Well, I’m endeavoring to make the most out of the time we have together. I’m doing my best to function socially.”

“You are doing fine, lo...Sherlock.”

Sherlock ignored the slip up, if he noticed it.

“I’ve been exercising in the mornings. I even go dancing some evenings.”

“You are looking very well.” John told him.

Sherlock looked at him. “Thank you. I have to admit it’s thanks to Dr. Quentin.”

“Oh?”

Sherlock gave him a rather odd look before saying:

“He is a specialist in adults with ASD, John. He has given me invaluable resources to aid me through the tedious processes of daily life.”

John looked pleased. “Such as?”

Sherlock sighed; “eating, sleeping, bathing, doing the shopping, paying the bills, doing the laundry and the dishes. All those boring things.”

“Fantastic! Since when do you go to therapy? You have always hated it!"

Sherlock stared at him for a moment: “It wasn’t an option John, after…”

Watson came running back, and was grabbing at them in a hurry.

She tugged on John’s hand, “I see the birthday boy! You have to wish him a happy Birthday, John! And Sherlock. You promised to climb that wall with me!”

“He did?” Asked John surprised 

“Of course…” responded Sherlock. “She said danger, and here I am.” 

[Post Malone, Swae Lee- Sunflower (Lyrics)](https://youtu.be/RXWYDeGhe24)

John smiled. They approached the “mountain” which was tall enough for an adult. The birthday boy, Jackson, came running towards Rosie. “Grandpa says we have to stretch our legs first! We go to the trampoline! Your dad can go to him!” Jackson said, pointing to the side of the mountain. 

“Sherlock, go there and get ready! We have team races!” Rosie said as she dashed away to the trampoline with Jackson. Sherlock walked distractedly towards the mountain and John followed, a couple of paces behind.

As Sherlock looked over his shoulder at Rosie jumping enthusiastically with her friends, John saw a big man’s face illuminate with a smile. This was Jackson’s grandfather, a very tall, buff man. Dark skin, black hair cut very short, with some gray woven in it. Shiny eyes brimming with happiness. '‘Do I know him?’’ crossed his mind, thinking maybe he had seen him at school. 

He caught up to Sherlock just in time to see his face go pale and his mouth fall open a tiny bit, as the man, who only had eyes for Sherlock, said, “Hello, baby....” At the endearment, Sherlock’s cheeks flushed pink, his lips hinting at a smile. ”... I’ve been waiting for you.” John felt his stomach clench and his mind go blank. Punch in the guts, lack of air, ‘No. MINE!' thought his brain, and he had to clench his hands to stop himself from doing something ridiculous, like throwing himself on this giant of a man.

********

Luther pulled Sherlock into his arms and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek gently, as Sherlock averted his face just in time. Sherlock knew he flushed deeply and was a little dazed when Luther let go. Oh god. John looked petrified. Not good. The two only men Sherlock had slept with in ten years were both here, right next to him. 

It had been hard enough for him to cover how affected he was by seeing John again: he had to remind himself John wasn’t here because of him. He had to bring forth everything he and Dr.Quentin had talked about, that John had been responsible for the breakup also. He had to try to stop himself from staring, or from having physical proximity or contact with the ex-blogger, since that would only encourage him to remember the last time they had... The addition of Luther’s presence, the Birthday boy’s Grandfather!, was just unfair. Sherlock’s brain was reeling, as if stuck on buffering mode.

“Waiting for me? How did you know I was here?” he asked, to give himself a chance to breathe.

“Jackson said Rosie’s dad, Sherlock, was going to climb the mountain. I know Rosie is your girl’s name and really, baby, how many Sherlocks do you think one can encounter in a lifetime?”

“And you? Grandpa? Did Jackson really call you Grandpa?” Sherlock stammered, not able to make sense of it. 

“That he did, being that his mama is my oldest girl. You however, you can call me Daddy.” Luther winked.

The older man practically purred. Sherlock’s mouth fell open again, alarmingly red faced now, while he heard someone having a cough attack. Yes, John. Whom Luther did not seem aware of until Sherlock took a deep breath and turned a little. He tried not to see John’s upset face. 

“John, this is my ...friend?, Luther.” He looked from one man to the other. “Luther, this is my...uhm, my goddaughter’s father, John Watson.” 

********

John covered the sting with a smile. “I was also his partner for seven years before we separated.” he said, nicely enough, reaching to shake the hand of the enormous man, whom, John was positive by now, was shagging Sherlock (Oh my GOD, Oh my god, Oh my bloody…).

“Six years, 5 months and 17 days…” Said Sherlock. “...and what we are, according to what you have repeatedly stated, is ‘broken up’.”

‘Touché’, thought John. Served him right. Luther shook John’s hand, while his right one was low on Sherlock’s waist. He gave him a once over that left John feeling on the receiving end of a total body MRI. This man did not feel “friendship” towards Sherlock.

If there had ever been a moment for crawling under a rock and dying, this was it for John. But then he looked up he saw Sherlock, who looked as if he were about to pass out and/or cry himself. So he took a deep breath, smiled and said,. “So you are going to make sure these two don’t crash on the floor?” 

That made things easier. Luther started talking about the harnesses, belays, rappels and carabiners, obviously more than just a casual fan of the sport.

Luther made sure Sherlock and Rosie were secured and understood what to do. Sherlock first tended to Rosie and climbed with her, participating in a race with Mark and his dad. Sherlock and Rosie coming up the winners. Then she raced by herself and tied with Pepsi. Some races later, she went back to the trampoline with her friends. Sherlock decided to climb to the top. He stood for a good ten minutes looking at the wall. Then he proceeded to scale as if he had done it many times before.

Luther and John watched him. “Is he always like this?” Luther asked

“Oh yeah. With everything he does.” said John. 

Then looked at Luther. “May I ask how the two of you met?”

Luther looked at him, as if deducing him again. “He went dancing at the disco, where I’ve been DJing, and man, can he dance.” 

John nodded. He knew exactly where and when they had met. He had been there. He should have dumped that date and taken Sherlock home, and the hell with the consequences. 

********

After their climb, they left Luther and Jackson in favor of searching for ice cream. They each got a cone, and Rosie took hers and went to join Pepsi on a queue for face painting. Sherlock realised John had not known about his meltdown and the real reasons for his stay at Mycroft’s. He had thought either Mike or Lestrade would have told John. He was grateful neither had. He did not want his ex partner to pity him. Left by themselves, John quickly brought up the Yard and DI Donovan. Sherlock told him some stories about Hoyt, the newest Anderson. The two ended up laughing at the unbelievable antics Donovan had to put up with. It was almost like old times. 

********

Then John brought up the trip to Cardiff and how Rosie had liked the city. Immediately, he noticed how Sherlock stiffened up, and practically stopped looking at him. His ex’s body language now clearly signaled “stay on your side”. John noticed Sherlock’s thumb touching the tips of each finger, as if he were plucking the violin strings, his old tell.

The silence between the two men grew painful. Sherlock’s ice cream melting onto his hand. John passed him a napkin, and said the first thing that came to his head, to get over the unease.

“So...are Greg and Mycroft an item? Greg keeps starting to tell me, but leaves it at him going out with a man. Then there is nothing but silence.”

“Lestrade is not embarrassed about being with Mycroft….” Sherlock suddenly looked and sounded angry. “... He took his sons out with them so Mycroft could get to know them…” Sherlock lifted his chin defiantly, “... His ex-wife knows. Tara knew from the beginning. Of course, my parents are over the moon. He hasn’t told you, because he is well aware you and my brother are not exactly in each other’s fan club.”

John saw Sherlock’s closed expression and his clenched fist, lightly bumping his thigh. Not the way he wanted this to go. He couldn’t change the topic without the genius being on to him. He tried to sound conciliatory, “I never said Greg had anything to be embarrassed about. It’s just, if it weren’t for that stripper, the night of the party, I wouldn’t have known anything was going on. I’m happy for them. Whirlwind romance, then. Both families already on board.”’

This did not have the desired effect. Sherlock’s leg was jump, jump, jumping. “Some people do not need infinite time to know that they have met the one they can not be without. They dated for a year, which you would have known had you observed Lestrade, or had any kind of conversation with me the last six months of our situation. They have lived together for three months. They are getting married, after giving it serious consideration. Mycroft wants Lestrade included in the family trust.” Sherlock had given up on the ice cream and thrown it in the can. He stayed farther from John than necessary. John thought for a moment about asking him how had he been supposed to ask him about his brother and Greg’s relationship, when Sherlock never spoke or answered him in the last six months without screaming, but he prudently closed his lips.

“So they are actually planning a wedding?” asked John incredulously, because neither man struck him as the kind to want a big event wedding, but again, it was the absolute wrong thing to ask.

Sherlock gave a small derisive snort. “Yes, a wedding, John. That’s what people do when they want the world to know they belong to one another. Now, if you’ll excuse me” he said, and he got up and walked towards where Rosie was.

And oh, how those words hurt. How many times had he thought about proposing to Sherlock, just to stop himself because of his disastrous experience with Mary? Or he had stopped himself thinking Sherlock was not the type to want a ring? Maybe he should be honest with himself, he didn’t want to repeat the experience of being married, the old ball and chain. He thought Sherlock had gotten close to asking himself. At least once, during a holiday at the beach, he had started talking about weddings, and ceremonies, and John had shot him down, saying it was an unnecessary expense and ritual for something that was 50% likely to work out at best. John hadn’t really been talking about their particular relationship, but Sherlock had hurriedly found a different conversation topic. 

Why couldn’t they have talked about this while they were together? What Sherlock said about Greg not being embarrassed about the men knowing they couldn’t live without one another, and about wanting it to be known they belonged to each other...Those were some of the complications they had in their relationship, as John hadn’t known who Sherlock wanted to know about their status. He admitted he had taken Sherlock’s feelings for granted. In the last year he had been so concentrated in Sherlock’s obsession with the Work and his penchant for putting his own life in danger, he had failed to see his own faults.

********

Sherlock wanted out. He obviously had not made enough progress, if almost three months of intense therapy could be wiped out just with being close to John at a child’s birthday party. He had made an effort to keep his distance in the hopes of controlling his feelings, but not even Luther’s presence could change the effect just chatting and laughing with John had on him. It was as if his body had a bloody magnet, pulling him towards the man. He could not keep his body still, his hands wanted to beat against his legs, his fingers wanted to flip, he wanted to sit down and rock. Instead, he walked blindly to the face painting stand, Rosie no longer on the queue, but close by, playing tug of war. Jackson was getting his face transformed into a pirate’s, wearing his costume present from Rosie.

Sherlock caught up with Luther. “Would you care to give me a ride home after the party, Luther?” Luther looked at him with a small, knowing smile.

“I believe there is someone else, ready and willing to take you home, baby. He’s not hiding it all that well.” He looked at John, who was now watching the tug of war.

“I won’t go home with John. Nothing good would come of that. I came here alone. I would go home alone, but I would rather go with you.”

“So you want to come to my place with me, Sherlock? I had plans for dinner, but I can cancel them.”

Sherlock looked towards John. who was looking back. It would be so easy...but the months after the last time, had been anything but. He was not about to lose his hard earned progress now. 

“Yes Luther. I want to go with you. Sorry about your plans, you can still go about your evening, I will wait for you…” All of the sudden, Sherlock wanted to go now, before he changed his mind.

“It’s OK, baby. Let me talk to my girl. I’ll take them out tomorrow, instead of dinner today. It will even be better for Jackson. We’ll leave right after. Is that alright?”

“Yes, thank you. It's’ perfect. I’ll say goodbye to Watson.” 

He took a deep breath. Rosie was coming towards John, her hands red from the rope. “Did you see my bees?” She asked them. She had a small swarm painted on her face. 

John told her, “It’s about time to leave, love. Start saying your thank yous.”

“Can we go have pizza? The three of us?” Rosie yelped.

“Well, if…” started John.

“No sweetheart, not today. I wouldn’t want to intrude in your time with your dad. I’m going to work on the cases Donovan gave me. Luther will give me a ride,” said Sherlock quickly.

“Luther? Who is that?" asked Rosie, making a pouty face.

“Jackson’s grandfather. We know each other. We are...good friends.”

Sherlock held his hand out to John. Their eyes locked together. John seemed about to start saying something a couple of times, but didn’t. So they shook hands. Soon, Luther came around to say goodbye, and take him by the hand.

********

5Seconds of Summer - Amnesia Lyrics

John had known what was about to happen from the time he saw Sherlock walk towards Luther. It had been little more than two months since the night he had seen Sherlock dance. Now, Luther held Sherlock’s hand with their fingers intertwined, here at his grandkid’s party, as if they had been together forever, and steadily walked towards the parking lot with him, talking and making Sherlock laugh out loud. 

John looked after them until they drove away. He cursed himself for not having walked with Sherlock hand in hand, when the consulting detective had been his.

*********

He couldn’t drive home. He just couldn’t drive back to the empty, horrid, flat right now. He called Molly and asked her out for the pizza Rosie wanted. She accepted, and they went to the little restaurant close to Bart. John didn’t eat more than a slice, but did have two drinks from the bar. Afterwards, they went to Molly’s. Rosie played with Toby, while John told Molly about the party and about Luther. As Molly told him she had heard something about Sherlock’s boyfriend from Allen, who in turn had heard about it eavesdropping on Donovan, John got up, got the bottle of whisky Molly kept at her small liquor cabinet, ice and two glasses, poured drinks out. 

“So he is really taller than Sherlock? And muscled? And black?” Molly asked. 

“Yes, Molly, the bloke currently shagging my ex is bloody gorgeous! Happy? Want a picture? Because I’m pretty sure “baby” can show you one!!” Drink down.

Molly gasped. “He calls Sherlock - baby?” she asked.

“He did at the party. Sherlock blushed - he literally blushed, Molly.” Another drink, before Molly even had the chance to see it. 

“Wow. I knew you dated, but somehow I never thought he would. You said he’s black, and from the States, then…”

John wanted to tear his hair out, “Molly, can you bloody focus, here! I have lost Sherlock to an ebony god and you want to meet him!” Drink. 

“I didn’t say anything about meeting new guy and you didn’t lose Sherlock, you left him! You had your reasons John. You were hurt today, it’s obvious, but there were reasons for you leaving! Don’t you remember? Sherlock was always working. All the time. He ignored your calls, and never answered your texts. You wouldn’t know who he was working with and where he was? Remember he even worked overnight? You constantly called Greg and had sometimes had to call half of London to find him. And when you tried to talk about it he wouldn’t, he just sulked, and if Rosie wasn’t there he would break things and yell at you!! You do remember that three night case he took? He never communicated with anyone for the duration. You were going out of your mind!! All those sleepless nights, John. It’s not as if you just up and left him! Don’t forget that!“ Molly saw John had reached for the bottle again. She had lost count. Was that drink three, or four? Bloody hell, three fourths of the bottle was already gone.

“How could I forget that, Molls…” his words sounded a bit slurred to himself. “...I fucking lived it. Yes he was a selfish, arrogant, dick. I left him. I couldn’t take it anymore! I remember. But he was not suppose to let me go! He was supposed to fix it, Molly! He’s the Great Detective, of International Fame! Why couldn’t he show me how to solve our shit? This wasn’t supposed to happen? Sherlock with someone else?" 

“John...You have dated… I’m sure you can find another partner, maybe a nice woman? Even if Sherlock wasn’t dating, would you really just get back together with him? Would you be willing to go through it all again? The not knowing, the fights, the silences? I thought you were determined to move on?” Molly asked

“You are not really helping, here, Molls?” said John, who didn’t need any reminders of that last horrible year and a half. Right now, he could only remember the good times, the times Sherlock had smiled proudly at his ideas, the times he had helped on cases, and the aftermath of solving them. John didn't want to stop thinking about how Sherlock was in bed, loving, passionate, undone. Then curled up, little spoon, or wrapped around him, like an octopus. ‘Move on’?. Here, in Molly’s cat hair covered apartment, with the knowledge that Sherlock was off doing he knew exactly what with a chocolate skinned Adonis, wrecking John’s heart and head, he knew he was going to fight to get Sherlock back. Back in his life, back in his home, back in his bed. Anywhere. Everywhere. But back in his life. Back with him and Rosie.

Molly had taken John’s car keys. When he woke up from a kip, he found she had put Rosie to bed, and covered him with a blanket. He got up, went to the kitchen, spying the liquor cabinet.

“Sorry, Molls. I didn’t mean for this…”

“It’s alright, John. Better here, than at your local. Do you want tea?” she asked, already pouring.

“Not really? Some more whisky would be nice?” John tried. Molly rolled her eyes. “Alright then, tea it is.”

Molly took her tea to her room and gave him a goodnight kiss on his scruffy cheek. John put the tea on the coffee table and settled back on the sofa. He was still a little drunk. He felt something in his pocket...hmm...his phone.

**********

[Goyte - Night Drive](https://youtu.be/QBLQIPNokyM)

Sherlock tried hard to keep up. His mind kept thinking about the same old thing. John, John, John. Wishing he had gone for that pizza, knowing full well it would have never ended there. This time, he would have left John’s phone well alone, and nothing on earth would have made him leave. Not good, not good. Luther had taken him to a nice cozy restaurant, where he had a full meal, but Sherlock had just asked for a grilled shrimp salad. He talked with Luther about the security procedures Lestrade was working with for the Parliament and about international travelling, the differences between the U.K and the U.S.

Then they went to his flat and stayed outside on the balcony standing against the rails, smoking Cuban cigars and looking at the city. Sherlock noticed Luther was waiting for him to make the first move, so he put out the cigar and slipped under the circle of his arms.

“Are you planning on talking all night, or do you think it possible you provide me with dessert?”

“Oh, you should get dessert? You only had salad, baby, you ate like a bird. If you were hungry, you should have had a proper dinner.” Luther said, as Sherlock traced a line of kisses down his chest and moved his hands over the plains of Luther's chest and abdomen. Live in the transport, turn off the mind.

“I was thinking of consuming bigger, better things.” Said Sherlock, with an exaggerated pant, rubbing Luther’s hardening cock with his own, the layers of fabric providing plenty of friction. Sherlock opened Luther’s buckle and the big man laughed. 

“Care to take it inside, baby?” 

The balcony provided a measure of privacy, no light on either side. Sherlock needed to get in the mood, right now. So he pushed Luther against the wall and opened his trousers. When he found him hard already, he got in position and took him in his mouth, to Luther’s delighted protests.

“Sherlock, sweetheart, are you….ahh.”

“Yes, we have established I am, now kindly shut up.”

Sherlock worked in earnest, hands on Luther’s belly, his arse, his legs. This is Luther, his huge cock in Sherlock’s mouth. He concentrated on it, holding with one hand, paying attention to the tip, wet with precome, alternating licking the length from bottom to tip, with sucking as much as he could take in, holding the base with his hand, while wetting the other to cup his bollocks, and rub his rim. Luther started panting in earnest. Giving him a last, lingering suck, he disengaged and pulled Luther’s stuff up. He sashayed through the sliding doors and towards the room. 

“Excuse me?” Luther called.

“I will get myself into a more comfortable position for a good pounding, if you are so inclined,” Sherlock said.

They got to the bedroom and naked in record time. Luther pulled the covers off the bed and got the lube. 

“You sure you want this today, baby?” Luther asked, already reaching for the lube to prepare him.

As a response, Sherlock took the lube, made sure Luther lay down on the bed, got up on his knees, one on each of Luther’s sides, and prepared himself, slicking his fingers, introducing them into his hole and fucking himself, deliberately provocative, making sure Luther looked, putting up a good show for the man. One, two, fingers, slowly and sensually in and out, as his other hand touched his own nipples, stroke his cock, Luther was close to drooling, holding himself up on his elbows, his cock fully hard and leaking. Once Sherlock felt ready, he took the lead, pushed Luther on his back on the bed. He took the man’s cock, slowly, covering it with slick, then covering his hand and circling his rim with it. Luther growled, Sherlock laughed. He lowered himself onto Luther’s cock. This was what they excelled at, this lustful, playful sex, that never failed to wipe-out Sherlock’s mind, while turning on every nerve, bringing forth sensations he had given up on since his breakup with...Oh! Eventually, he started moving, just enough to tease Luther, making sure he touched himself, too, going on with the show. 

“God baby, you are precious!” Luther looked blown away.

When he felt himself closer Sherlock said; “Change position.” 

“You certain, Sherlock?”

“Oh yes. I want you to go so deep you erase my hard drive, Luther. Do you think you can?’

“Oh Sherlock, sweet thing, I have been holding back since we started out. If you want it you are going to get it, baby, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sherlock positioned himself, knees on the bed, hands on the frame, the bigger man moved his hands along Sherlock’s legs, kissed his shoulders, and his back. He gently entered Sherlock, holding on to his hips, and went as deep as he could get. Sherlock shivered. Luther kissed him, rocking, gently, one arm reaching around, holding Sherlock’s chest.

“Ready, baby?” Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes and his hand over Luther’s.

Luther started in earnest, just as Sherlock wanted, hard, rough, almost brutal. Sherlock alternated between moaning, yelping and shouting. Luther took it up a notch, and Sherlock started invocating the deity that had so often failed him, in many different languages, 

“Oh my god!..."

He also called out Luther’s name, time and time again, everything else blotted out, non existent, no regrets, or feelings, or memories. At some point, Luther put his fingers in his mouth for him to suck on, as he grabbed the curly one’s cock and stroked him to orgasm. He screamed out as he came, wriggling his battered body, feeling the force of Luther’s release inside of him, and experienced the bliss of …..nothing.

He came to, dizzy, drenched in sweat and fluids, feeling quite unable to move.They had fallen back on the bed at some point. Luther was next to him, the picture of satisfaction, smoking a cigarette and smiling at him. “Hey there...welcome back, baby.”

“Can’t move…” 

Luther laughed, got up, brought him wipes and a glass of water. Sherlock drank the water gratefully and cleaned up halfheartedly. Luther turned on the television, to black and white Hitchcock movies. He put a plate of strawberries between them. Sherlock ate most of them. Eventually he fell asleep. Woke up once when Luther picked him up to put him under the covers. 

When Sherlock woke up, the sun was in his face and he was alone. It took him a couple of tries to be able to move; getting out of the bed was a triumph. He felt as if he had been run over by a bus. His whole body hurt. He made it to the shower.

Afterwards, feeling better, he made his way to the kitchen, were Luther had made blueberry pancakes, served with delicious smelling, strong black coffee and honey. 

“Feeling up to running some errands with me?” teased Luther. “I have some things I have to do and a couple of people to meet today about some business. Then in the evening it’s off to the family again.”

“Luther as much as I enjoy your company, I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass. After our rather...intense activities of last night, I think the best place for me is home, my bathtub and my bed.”

The big man gave Sherlock a wistful smile. “You enjoyed those activities?”

“Why on earth would you even ask? Wasn’t it obvious? To the whole neighborhood?” 

“Well you sort of invoked divine intervention and people who were not here.” said Luther, and Sherlock noticed something in his tone.

“You mean me saying ‘oh my god’ in other languages?”

“Baby, how much do you remember about last night?”

“I would think I remember most of it. After invoking your deities I screamed your name until you put your fingers in my mouth...and then everything went blank.”

“Well, yes...but you weren’t screaming _ my _ name.”

Sherlock blinked, confused. “Of course I was! I was screaming your name. Over and over!”

“No Baby. I put my fingers in your mouth to quiet you. You were calling…”

Sherlock tensed and got up abruptly, ”NO!”

Luther looked at him. Sherlock paced the floor. “I said _ your _ name!”

“Baby, it’s not such a big deal. I knew from the start, from the way you said he had _ broke you up _, that you weren’t over him. I know how that feels…”

“No, no, no! You wiped him out, you wiped everything out. I said your name over and over!”

“You said his name over and over. You said ‘John’. You called out for ‘John’. You do sometimes, baby. This is why we could ever only be ‘friends with benefits’. It’s been clear since the first night.”

“No! NO!!! Why does it still have to be him! I’m so bloody tired of not getting over him!! He doesn’t want me! I’m never enough, always his last resort. He doesn’t prefer a male partner.” Sherlock snagged one of Luther’s cigarettes. 

“He didn’t really seem all that over you, not with the way he kept looking at you or with the way he talked about you. He doesn’t look like he considers you a ‘last resort’ …”

“Thank you, for trying to lift my spirits Luther, but obviously I have more work to do. I’m going home. Please forgive me, I never meant to offend you.”

“You didn’t baby. You never pretended to want a relationship with me. This is a friendly arrangement. I will text you to see how you are feeling, ok? Don’t let it get to you.”

For Sherlock, however, it was as good as over. He could neither lie to himself, nor continue to have sex with Luther, when his heart, idiotic transport, insisted on belonging to the man who broke it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to my readers, those who just read, those who kudo and those who comment and have conversations with me. You guys light up my life. Thanks for all your support and ideas and for joining me in trying to get my idiots from A-Z . Here, just in case Luther is causing sad Johnlock vibes, is a onesie I love by the Extraordinarily Talented SilentAuror [ Table For One](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1077452)  
You can find all the music I listened to on repeat while writing this fic + a couple of Luther's pieces, here [Will You Take Me Home?](www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs to clear some things up for himself, and for Luther. Then, dinner with the family? They finally have a pretty nice time, even if they both are careful, careful, careful. Sherlock asks Mike a favor. Mike though, recommends somebody else. Then there will be a dinner together, most certainly nice. Rosie is having some trouble, that also leads her to think about her mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks to my gorgeous and multi-talented betas, [ Dovahlock221](https://archiveveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) not "just" for "beta-ing" this monster of mine, but also for the enthusiasm, the hand holding when I go "cold noodle" and just in general being the most awesome friends I ever thought one could have - from Fandom! Thank you Sherlock!

“So, how are you feeling about that now? Has it been a week already?” asked Dr.Quentin. What have you taken from the experience?

“Well, that my body did need to recuperate from it. I didn’t go to the club and when Luther texted I told him I was on a case, which is true. I also continue to feel mortified about calling out someone else’s name.” 

“Yes and getting back to that…,” Dr. Quentin said as Sherlock rolled his eyes, “...your thoughts about it. Why did it happen?”

“I wasn’t aware I had called out to John while Luther and I were, intimate. He kept it to himself. This time, I suppose it happened because John came to the party. We hadn’t seen each other in over two months. He was very friendly and open with me. He seemed to want to be close.”

“How did you feel when he and Luther met?”

“I was nervous that John would make it an issue, that he would think I did it on purpose. But he took it well. He even talked with Luther for a while.”

“How did you feel when you were with John?” Dr. Quentin asked.

“Anxious when I saw him. Then we fell back into our familiar banter. About Rosie, the Yard, Barts. That was easy. I had to think to remain at a prudent distance. I kept sneaking closer to him. Then he talked about his trip to Cardiff, and I tensed up.”

“Does he know about what you went through at that time?”

“No. He wasn’t aware I’ve been seeing you, which speaks well of Mike, which was expected, and Lestrade, which is surprising seeing that they get along quite well. However, it was like a wake up call for me. I decided to leave, to avoid the temptation of accepting John’s invitation to ‘drop me off’.”

“So, you avoided getting in a car with John, and went with Luther and had sex instead. In avoiding your feelings for John, are you escalating your relationship with Luther?”

“Doctor, there is a vast difference between my relationship with Luther and that with John. Luther and I were clear from the start. Friends ‘with benefits’. He is here temporarily and doesn’t want a relationship. I wanted to know I could be found attractive and function with someone else. I can. Luther and I share sex, friendship and company and that is it. While the sex is satisfactory, there is nothing else there. With John there is so much more. The experience itself is more, there are other sensations with him, more warmth, comfort…”

“You still feel him as ‘home’ and ‘love’. What do you think about his feelings?” 

"He confuses me. His demeanor and his attitude were quite different to the last time we were together. John reached out. He had been texting me. He was friendly with me and we talked like we did in our earliest years. Even when we met Luther, he never lost his temper. When I left with him, John seemed disappointed… John called me the next morning to ask me to erase some voicemails. He had texted me. I only found out once I left Luther and looked at my phone in the cab.”

“Did you erase them? Did you listen to the messages first?”

“No. I think he might have had too much to drink and left me an angry voicemail. I erased it. The texts were just my name…”

“It seems the two of you should have an open dialogue about these last months, talk about things you have learned, things you are doing, where you are in terms of each other.”

“We are broken up. John left. He doesn’t want the burden of being my doctor, much less the hardship of being my...whatever. When John left, he said it was because he ‘couldn’t take _ it _ anymore’ the _ ‘it’ _ being me.” said Sherlock and Dr. Quentin noticed his anxiety tells had increased.

“It is my understanding that the two of you are bringing Rosie up…,” said Dr. Q carefully, “...therefore, it will be necessary for both of you to communicate effectively, join efforts, and ensure you have the same goals and behavioral expectations in mind for the child. Sherlock you also need to make this relationship clear for yourself. Is it co-parenting to maintain a family for your child? Is it a friendship, are there any other prospects for the two of you? I believe there is still work to do there, for you to be able to continue your progress effectively.” The doctor looked at Sherlock, whose leg jumped in place as he sat before him.

“That seems true, doctor, but I do not know if I can face this anymore.” said Sherlock. 

“In this too, you may find me of some assistance, Sherlock. Don’t give up hope.” Dr. Quentin smiled.

*******

At school, Rosie had picked a fight with Pepsi, because as always, she could tell when Rosie was upset, or worse, when she was out of her depth and she would insist in doing something Rose didn’t want, such as call her dads. She had noticed this morning, when she came to put her books in her locker. There was another white envelope there. She had pushed it in deeper to hide it from Pepsi’s ever seeing eyes. The first note, found a couple of weeks ago in the same place, had been stupid, but disquieting. “Do you worry about being like your mother?” In general she hadn’t, not giving her mother much thought.

Rosie had a box at 221B somewhere, with pictures from their wedding, an invitation, a swan napkin and pictures of mother with baby. Some other stuff, more than certain. Mary had rarely been a topic of conversation in her home with two dads. They took up all the space in her heart and in her mind. If she wanted a mother on mother’s day, she had Nana Hudson and Grandma Violet. She remembered being very little and asking Dad about how he met mom, and how they fell in love. That had eventually changed into her asking about Sherlock. It was only now, with this stupid little white notes, that she got to thinking about her jean mother, no genetic mother. Why would she have to worry about being like her? 

Now there was another note, and like the first one, there were no words on the envelope. The inside had letters cut out from magazines. From sweetie advertisements. This one said “Your father hasn’t told you the truth about your mum. You care to find out why he lied?” The notes weren’t threatening. Nobody was saying they would hurt her or her dads, but they made her feel sick to her stomach with worry. She wondered why it had never occurred to her to look her mum up on Google. She would do it next time she had library time. She couldn’t do it at either home. Sherlock would know immediately. 

********

John waited until he was relatively sure Sherlock would be out and Rosie was at school to go by Baker Street. He had felt inspired and made a shepherd's pie. It was his grandmother’s recipe and one of the dishes everyone asked for. So he had it now, and it was a beauty of one, to offer Mrs. Hudson. “John! This is beautiful! Come in! I made scones for breakfast, have some.” So conversation came easily. Until. “Oh, Mrs Hudson, I was talking with Mike and he was telling me Sherlock has a new-friend. You must know about him, right?”

Mrs Hudson, looked everywhere. “Well, Sherlock has a few new friends, John. He has been working on his social behaviors.”

“I met Luther at a birthday party last week. He and Sherlock seem to be getting along.”

“Yes, Luther. Nice young man, he is. He met Sherlock at a club where he is a DJ, he told me. Sherlock goes dancing there to meet up with him. Good old fashioned manners. A gentleman. One can tell he is very well educated.”

“So is it serious? Do they have plans?” Asked John.

Mrs Hudson knew John well. Though he was trying to appear casual, he was actually jealous enough to have made Shepard pie, and come over to interrogate her about him.

“Well I wouldn’t know about that, would I, John? I know that Sherlock likes him. He likes to go dancing, and he does stay over with him, quite a lot. When I asked, he assured me the man was kind and gentle with him, when he wanted him to be.”

Mrs H knew what John was feeling. She had seen it in Sherlock many times since their break-up. John was jealous. Though personally, Mrs Hudson didn’t think Sherlock’s relationship had any real future. Sherlock was adamant that they were not romantic and that Luther had a family to go back to, she didn’t tell John that. Let him. Let him feel what Sherlock had more than once. It might just rightly wake the daft man up. 

********

[ Selena Gomez -Back To You](https//youtu.be/0-yRMH9PUgY)

Luther and Sherlock were in a cafe. They were almost done with their civilized talk. “You know what I feel, baby. It has to be good for both of us, so it’s alright if you are not feeling it anymore. If it’s about what happened last time, don’t feel bad. It’s ok.”

“I can’t continue with the sex, Luther. I should have given myself time to relearn how to be by myself. That was the plan my therapist suggested. However, you proved to be too much of a temptation.” said Sherlock, quite truthfully.

Luther smiled. “Baby, you are beautiful, brilliant and to top it off, damn funny. Don’t forget that. I know what’s going on, and tell you what. I’m going back home soon, right after some stops in France and Spain. I’ll keep in touch, OK? If you’re ever ready for another go, we’ll explore the possibilities, alright?”

Sherlock muttered something, gave Luther a quick kiss goodbye and left, without being able to thank him, for picking him, for being kind and understanding, for not expecting what Sherlock couldn’t offer. And he had understood. Yes, it was John. He couldn’t carry on with Luther when he had been calling John out loud and in his mind all along. John who now seemed intent on texting him and waiting around at Mrs. Hudson when he dropped Rosie off so Sherlock had to see him. Sherlock would not falter, though. He had no intention to be John’s fallback when he was in between girlfriends.

*********

John had let Rosie persuade him to let her use his phone and text Sherlock. She had insisted that she wanted him over for Sunday dinner. She wanted pizza and chicken wings. So John had handed over the phone, as they left for the park. Sherlock came as Rosie was busy playing with her neighborhood friends. The consulting detective, as always, looked impeccable, black slacks, a gray shirt and a leather jacket. John greeted him warmly and gossiped about the children Rosie was playing with and their parents. Sherlock seemed to be trying not to laugh. He was also keeping considerable distance. So John looked him in the eyes and asked, “Sherlock, is this OK?”

Sherlock took a deep breath and said, “John, though I am willing to go through with the dinner plans tonight, I will be going straight home afterwards. In the future, we should refrain from doing this sort of thing, since I feel it may be confusing for Watson. The reality is she has two distinct homes. It is better that these get togethers, not school or homework related, be kept sparse.”

John couldn’t keep his face from falling, just a bit. “It’s alright, message received. She was just so set on it. I had to ask. Now if you had plans with Luther, I can tell her we can do it some other time.”

“No. I already told her I would go and I will. Luther is not a concern. He has business trips abroad he needs to attend to.”

“Have you broken up?” Not good. That came out sounding more eager than expected.

Sherlock turned his face to John’s and looked at him with his familiar intensity, “Luther and I are still friends, no break up. I do not need any more of those.” 

The dinner at the pizza place was a success, thought John. They went to one of the more modern pizzerias, where they let you make your own pies. Rosie had her own personal pie, something with pineapple and ham, called a “Hawaiian” pizza. Sherlock protested, “Why Hawaiian? What is Hawaiian about cheese and pineapple? If they wanted veracity, it should have “Spam” instead of ham. That is the most consumed processed meat in that place. It is a salty, greasy monstrosity. Watson, how can you?”

John and Sherlock divided a pie, John’s half was the meat lover's pizza, with ground beef, and sausage, while Sherlock’s side was low on cheese with an extra helping of shiitake mushrooms. John also asked for a salad and chicken wings. Sherlock eyed the wings, but didn’t take any. John took a small plate, and served him half his salad, giving him most of the hot peppered olives. Sherlock sat there, blinking for a couple of minutes and then simply said, “Thank you”.

Rosie started the conversation, talking animatedly about the science project the teacher had assigned. “We have to choose one ourselves and this time I get to work with Nyla, Pepsi is working with Laura. Nyla already has an idea, but we are thinking how to work it out.” John was quite impressed with her level of independence. Sherlock was looking proudly at her also. They talked about the kids, and the teachers, though not about Ms. Ruiz. 

The men talked a bit about Molly, and her approaching birthday. John asked Sherlock about his boxing, and talked about his cross training. Once the olives and the mushrooms had been completely picked off, and Rosie ate three of the six small pieces of her pie, John asked for a giant “brownie” with walnuts and vanilla ice cream for them all to share. Sherlock looked at it dubiously, saying he had eaten enough already, but of course gave in to temptation and digged into the delicious concoction, ending up in a race to see who could eat the most spoonfuls of brownie/ice cream together. 

The brownie was victorious, none of them being able to eat another bite, having to leave almost half of it on the plate. Smiling, tums full of food, they all decided to walk a bit before heading to their flats. Rosie contentedly skipped/danced in front of them, twirling along the way of the mild, lighted evening. Sherlock and John walked quietly, amicably enough. John couldn’t help stealing glances at the detective. At one point, John almost reached out for his hand, but Sherlock, with an apparent sixth sense, put his hands behind him and talked about the style of the neighborhood houses and the immigrant groups that lived in it. As they approached John’s flat, Sherlock stopped and told them he would get a cab from there. Rosie protested vehemently, but Sherlock would not be deterred and reminded her they would see each other the day after the next.

In all, it was probably for the best Sherlock had not gone with them back home. John had no problem going slow. He did not have an option, since Sherlock was not open to any kind of closeness with John at the moment.

*********

Sherlock did not like to feel confused. It was proving difficult to define John’s intentions. He was being friendly, letting Watson invite him to dinner, then splitting his salad with him, giving him most of the olives. Then, did he ask for dessert because Sherlock had only eaten half his part of the salad and the shiitake mushrooms? After so much food, he relented from getting a cab immediately in favor of walking with Watson. The walk was beautiful. John had kept remarking on different things until Sherlock felt compelled to talk about history, just to avoid any intimate subjects.

They were a little more than 10 blocks from the trattoria to John’s flat. Sherlock glanced at John every now and then, and he felt everytime John looked at him. He kept his distance and put his traitorous hands behind his back, when they wanted to reach out and touch the doctor. Once they were only a couple of blocks away from John’s flat, Sherlock got in a cab. Both John and Rosie waved goodbye. Sherlock caught John looking into his eyes, and he could almost fool himself into thinking he saw some of the old admiration, or even love in them. Even if it was love, at the present Sherlock wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything about it.

********

Mike was being unreasonable, though Sherlock had expected as much when he called. “Mike I’m not asking you to run around chasing anybody! I would just like you to come and interview a couple of individuals from my homeless network! I haven’t gotten any new leads in this case, and Donovan will close it if I don’t find something for her to work with!

“Sherlock…,” Mike said patiently, “...I do not go around the underworld interviewing homeless people. I just don’t. You’re more than welcome to bring them to my office. Aren’t they in your network though? Wouldn’t they talk to you?”

“They are being secretive about these murders. I suspect the victims were somehow paid for participating in some sort of trial, but I can’t get them to confirm it, much less tell me what the trials are for! They might talk to a doctor, but they would never accept getting in a cab with me and coming all the way to your office.”

"Look mate, I’m sorry. What about Ella? Maybe you can ask her for pointers to help the men open up and answer questions?”

“Is there anybody you know that works with the homeless, Mike? Anybody willing to come down to the underground?” Sherlock pleaded. Somebody was poisoning these men and he needed proof to hand to Donovan.

“Somebody who knows the community of homeless veterans, and is willing to give of their time and travel to where they are. You ask for a lot, Sherlock.” Said Mike, but he was smiling, his eyes twinkling. “...I’ll see what I can do, alright? Don’t get your hopes up.”

*********

[Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars Acoustic ](https://youtu.be/NI5A5zri6Yg)

When he got there, after almost an hour, he started feeling a little suspicious. ‘What are you up to Mike?’ he thought. He saw a police car close the tube station exit, a tall bearded man, “Detective Inspector Harris?“ he asked. Mike had promised Donovan was not the attending. 

“O, there you are! Good trip?” Tall bloke, late 30’s, Scottish accent, redhead, nicely kept beard. 

“Traffic, some, not bad really. What am I supposed to do?”

“You hungry? We could make a coffee stop. I’ll brief you on the way.”

“No, it’s alright. Where are we going?”

“Over to Loughborough Park, some old blokes living close by are willing to talk to you. A couple of agents investigating the scene found some clothes, but not much more. We have a specialist going over some of the victim’s belongings.”

Yes, just as John suspected from the beginning, the “specialist” had his magnifying glass out and was now looking over some of the plants on the walkway farthest to the main road. 

“Your specialist is Sherlock Holmes.” said John, looking at the detective, crouched down, Belfast dragging on the already dusty, sparse grass at that side of the park, his curls all flying around in the wind, no gloves today.

“Oh! You know him? Turns out he is a celebrity of sorts. I’ve heard the name, but must say, he’s nothing like I thought. He’s actually quite fantastic.”

John laughed. “Don’t I know it. You can say we are old friends. I used to be his blogger.”

“Oh, my God! Of course! You are that John Watson! Sorry doctor, I have a mate back home with your same name. It’s pretty common over there. I did hear about your blog when he came back from his “time away”. Let’s go say ‘hello’.”

D.I. Harris took the lead and went straight to Sherlock. “Ah, Edward, did the doctor finally arrive? And does he seem at least minimally competent?” he asked, not bothering to look up.

“I used to be, not sure about now…,” said John, with a grin.

Sherlock stood straight immediately and brushed his hand off on his coat to shake John’s hand. “John…,” he said solemnly, as if he were greeting a long lost acquaintance from uni days, “...fancy you, out on a case.”

“Mike Stamford told me D.I Harris needed help with a case of a disappearing veteran. I took these as my volunteer hours.” John gave Sherlock a look over. Looked well, not lost any weight since last time, clothes impeccably clean, except now for shoes and Belstaff. The git was looking anywhere but at him. 

“I should have known Mike would think of you first. Nice to see you still do cases for the new D.I’s.” Sherlock doggedly refused to look directly at him. 

“Well, you could have asked me, you know. As it is, I have no problem assisting both you and ‘Edward’, whom apparently you have been working with.” That came out wrong. It sounded sort of angry...jealous.

“Many prior experiences of me asking you for active participation in a case where I am involved, only lead to your rejection. I didn’t have a reason to think it would be different on this occasion.”

“Sherlock, those were different times. A different situation…,” started John.

Harris came to them. “The gentleman on the bench is ready for you, Dr. Watson…” John left to talk with the man, a retired Lieutenant. The man was obviously loyal to his disappeared friend, and reluctant to explain what he knew. After some conversation, John told him about his work with veterans, and his struggles with the system to get them into dignified housing and medical care, LT. Vasquez confessed to John, he had kept the victims belongings, which included some art, and some clothes. He agreed to take them to where he found them. Vasquez took them to ‘his place’, taking only John underground with him at the tube station, and visiting a small, discrete hidey hole, where he took out a tshirt, some foreign coins, a picture and some loose paper. 

“He had 50 pounds. I currently have like 30 of it, but I’m using it to eat, Captain.” John thanked the man, gave him his card and asked him to come visit him. “Even if you just need someone to talk to Lieutenant…,” said John earnestly, “...It can be lonely out here, especially if your friends are disappearing." John left a 20 in the hiding place as he followed Vasquez out. 

John came out with the clothes and the paper slips in a bag, feeling accomplished. The two other men paid him no mind, as D.I. Harris was holding on to Sherlock’s arm as Sherlock was flat out laughing at some joke they shared. “How can your SI take things like that! I thought Lestrade had it hard with the group back in London!” 

John was able to see Harris’s face, as he looked at Sherlock. Obviously totally smitten with the git, who was currently still finishing his bout of laughter, cheeks and neck gone pink. He cleared his throat. 

“Lt. Vasquez gave me the victims' clothes. Mendez may have disappeared a couple of weeks ago, but he said the personal belongings have not been touched by anyone other than himself.” 

He handed the things in a plastic evidence bag to Sherlock. John handed him a smaller bag, with the papers and receipts he had collected. “Some of these look like sketches.”

“Thank you John. We were lucky to have you. Vasquez refused to talk to D.I Harris. He talked to me, but I knew he wasn’t telling me everything. Want to come to the Yard with me?”

John would have said no, if Sherlock hadn’t sounded sincere and added the “with me”. As it was, D.I Harris insisted on driving them, in his unmarked car. Sherlock sat in the front with Harris. Harris was talking about a town in Scotland, where Sherlock had some family. Sherlock steered the conversation towards the Yard and Lestrade. He included John in a conversation about some of their funniest cases. John joined in, soon all three men were laughing as John told the story of the flying monkeys.

At the Yard, Sherlock led the men to Donovan. He gave her the evidence to tag. Then they proceeded to an interview room, where the men gave their statements, Donovan had not been too pleased to see John on board, but reluctantly accepted him as a medic consultant, since he had actually spoken with the witness. 

Sherlock went over the pieces of evidence, memorizing numbers he found handwritten on the receipts, and also taking pictures of the little portraits on the piece of paper. Once they were done, John was stopped by one of the younger detectives, Stewart, who wanted to let him know he was a fan, and talked to him about some of the tips Mr. Holmes had passed on to him, he has said came from John’s experiences with handling high tension situations. Hearing that had moved him, that Sherlock still had good things to say about him and include his experiences as advice for new officers.

Talking about new officers, D.I Harris and Sherlock were deep in conversation. The Yarder said something, while Sherlock looked at the floor. When he raised his eyes, his expression was gentle. He put his hand on the D.I’s arm, moving a little towards the man. He said something and Harris nodded, Sherlock walked away. He passed by John, stopping at the entrance. John said his goodbyes and caught up with him. “Well, that was fun. Did you get anything from it?”

“Oh loads. The man was not alcoholic. He was taking his meds and one of the numbers I found was from his social worker. He was about to get a placement in a housing building. He wouldn’t have just disappeared, John. Unfortunately, the other number was not answered, but I’ll try again, I also found a scribble on a coupon, and I have pictures of the sketches he made. I still have to identify who the person is.”

“It was good watching you in action after so long.” said John, aware that Sherlock looked at him with his eyebrow raised. “You want to go somewhere? I’m rather peckish.” said John, taking a chance.

“Hum...I just turned D.I Harris down. I had to let him know I can’t date someone I work with…,” said Sherlock looking a little flustered.

“Good thing I volunteered then. No such problems. I believed we’ve shared one or two meals before.“ said John, and smiled. Sherlock couldn’t help an answering smile. 

“Dinner?" asked John.

“Sta...Very well then.” answered Sherlock, and it was a start. 

They went for Indian food, with chicken curry, Samosas, and kheer. Sherlock relaxed eventually and they talked about Donovan, and a couple of cases she and Sherlock had worked together. Sherlock finished telling him about a hacker who had been using the Library’s database to find ways to blackmail the biggest contributors. 

“She looked at Donovan in the eye and told her she did it because of postpartum depression. John the woman never even had a child and Donovan knew as much. How she controlled herself and stopped herself from punching the woman I will never know.”

“Wow! How recent was this? I don’t remember hearing about it.” said John. 

Sherlock gave him a funny little look. “Oh, this was before you left.”

********

Rosie had gotten a couple more of those notes. They now totaled five. All of them found at school. Some of them were in paper, some on her school computer account. They had something to do about her- about Mary. At first she had thought some kid was doing it, she was well aware some of her peers thought she was the teacher’s pet, and queer for having two dads. But the notes “sounded" too much for just one of the idiot kids. There had been one with “What job did your good ole mum have before she married your Da? Do you know?” The latest one read “What kind of mother leaves her newborn with an alcoholic and a junkie?” 

Rosie knew these were supposed to be menacing, but she had tried investigating her mom’s name, and there were thousands of Mary Elizabeth Watsons. She found the right one, in a newspaper, an announcement of her wedding with dad, who was called “Sherlock Holmes’ former live-in private assistant”, but there was not a lot of information, other than she was a nurse. There was a picture of her still in the archive, on the site of the Royal Free Hospital, where she was listed as an RN, which she knew was a registered nurse. Her dads didn’t let her use the computer freely, so she didn’t really know how to look up more details. Dad had said she had worked as a special agent before nursing, but she couldn’t find anything about that. She was confused and frustrated.

Even more frustrating was the other note. "An alcoholic and a junkie", the note said. Harry was an alcoholic. But Rosie had never stayed with her when she was a baby. At that time she had not been doing well. She had to research what a ‘junkie’ was and found out it was a drug addict. She knew Sherlock had health issues, like when he got sick and stayed at Mycroft’s. Dad had been worried about him, ‘using’, she heard him ask Dr. Stamford. Sherlock couldn’t be a ‘junkie’ though, could he? He didn’t live on the streets. 

Rosie hyperventilated. If only it were her days with Sherlock, she might work up the courage to ask him what to do, instead.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my lovely readers. You have no idea how much you have helped me these last couple of weeks. I was surprised and grateful for all the positive comments about my OC! I love him too!   
The cases described in this story, will always be secondary to the men's story. Cases are only to highlight what they are to each other. For a story with a great case (There are many in this talented fandom), may I direct you to, [The Edinburgh Problem by snorklepie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2392997/chapters/5287721) The case there is absolutely fantastic! as is the whole series!  
As always listen along at [Will You Take Me Home? ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our men open a tentative communication line, and lay out some serious feelings. Rosie and Nyla have fun with an experiment at 221B and their parents do too. Mango rum, anyone? John is feeling a bit left out. Sherlock reassures him. Then, the mysterious messages Rosie is getting. It turns a bit interesting, when the perpetrator is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you this week for both my betas, [Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) whom have done much hand holding and loving this week, so I could post this chapter. Once again, cases for me are secondary to the developing (or redeveloping) relationships

[Imagine Dragons-Stuck (Lyrics)](https://youtu.be/mGofG5zrt6o)

“So I really can’t tell if this disappearance has anything to do with the ones you are investigating, but still, it’s one more veteran that is missing.” Said John to Sherlock.

“It hasn’t even been reported as a missing person, correct?”

“No, then again, no family members, an alcoholic best friend, who’s going to report it? He only talked to me because I asked if he had heard about the disappearances or had anyone suspicious approach him with any kind of offer.”

“This person is quite younger than the rest of the missing veterans, though. And in the others no one noticed marks on the fingers.” Sherlock said, thinking aloud.

“Finger marks make me think diabetes, sugar testing. This guy was younger, but could still be affected.”

“That would bring a whole new game to the table. Allen had dismissed diabetes in the other victims, though….”

“So that’s something for you to think about. Are you going to call Donovan?”

“Not yet. I might send Steward to ‘visit ‘you so you can casually bring this up to him, though.”

John giggled. “How have you been, Sherlock. You haven’t answered my texts.”

“Oh. You didn’t send any questions, mostly just descriptions of your patients’ cases I thought answers were unnecessary. “

“Pssf, some genius. I send you comments about my day. You could send me a comment about yours. Not required, though.”

“Why?”

‘Why what, Sherlock?”

“Why are you texting me comments about your day? We haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Because you are my best friend. I wanted to make myself present and I would like to know about you, too. Nothing complicated, just a friendly talk.”

“I am your best friend….” he said slowly “...You want us to be- friendly?”

“Isn’t it better than fighting? I mean, at least we can get along well enough for Rosie stuff. And the last couple of times we’ve been together, everything has been fine, or not?”

“Yes these last times we’ve been together have been pleasant. I suppose we could try to be friendly.” Sherlock said.

“Try? It’s not that hard, you git. We can find lots of things to talk about.” said John, making his voice sound light.

“I understand it is not hard for you. It’s not so easy...for me...to be. You were much more than a friend. I try not to think that way, I have trouble...looking at you as a friend. Mike is a friend. Lestrade is a friend. You...were more."

That Sherlock said that, aloud and so transparently stated hurt John’s heart. He couldn’t answer. He just breathed. Of course, they were not just friends. But Sherlock was so careful these days, so reserved. If John asked him to give their relationship one more try now, he would just say no. So John was going back to the start, trying to find a way to deserve him. 

“I guess we can do it, for Rosie. Thank you for the information John. I believe it will prove relevant to the case. I will let you know. And, I...will answer your texts.” He hung up without waiting for an answer. But at least, there was that.

********

Rosie had long decided that experiments were better done at 221B. John was just too fussy. Sherlock, on the other hand, reminded her of proper scientific method, and let her be. He was handy helping with the clean up, even if John didn’t believe it. So on Thursday, after school she and Sherlock were heading to the stores to find some of the things for the experiment. Nyla was coming for a sleepover the next night. A first in the new flat! Once at the store, they found Nyla, and her mom, Charlie. Rosie nudged Sherlock, who reluctantly went to say hello

“Hello. Nyla, Hello Mrs. Wood” Said Sherlock politely.

The woman gave him a little smile. “Best call me Charlie, my last name is likely to change back to Hanscom, some time soon, Mr. Holmes.”

“Then you should call me Sherlock, since our girls are working on a science project together.”

“And I’m sleeping over!!” screamed Nyla and Rosie joined in. 

“Yeah, there’s that.” said Charlie, looking none too happy about it.

“Is there a problem?” 

“No, only that it’s my day with her, and things always seem to come up on our days. I’m sure it seems the same to Lizbeth, too, but ….”

Dr. Quentin’s words about befriending new people lead him to say. “If that is the case, why don’t you come with her? We recently renovated the flat and there is a guest bedroom. The girls could stay in Rosie’s room.” This prompted the girls to scream again. 

So Sherlock ended up going to Mrs. Hudson, to ask her for advice on how to behave, and what to talk about. Mrs. Hudson, of course, was delighted. “It will be so good for the girls!” Sherlock deeply regretted his offer, but he did feel bad about taking a night with Nyla away from her mom. 

To Sherlock’s surprise, things went spectacularly. They ordered fish and chips, and got dinner out of the way. Then everybody helped setting up the experiments. They consisted of what worked best to curl, straighten or color dolls’ hair. Nyla had an excess of “My London Girl” dolls that were ready for giving away, so they had picked some for the experiment.

The girls got all the materials ready and got started with three light haired dolls. One would be tested with purple drink dry mix, another with art markers and the third with permanent marker diluted in alcohol. While Sherlock helped cut open the permanent markers and mix them with alcohol, Charlie filmed the process. With little help and some directions, the girls were able to carry out their experiments, and thanks to the extra pair of hands, the whole process was filmed.

The dolls’ hair had to be left overnight to dry. There was another trio of dolls whose hair was to be curled. So after Sherlock performed a dramatic reading of a chapter from Rosie’s favorite series “The Land Of Stories”, the girls settled in Rosie’s room, to talk and giggle and pretend to sleep. 

********

Sherlock, at a loss as to what to do alone with Nyla’s mom, offered her a drink. 

“Thanks. Would you have something other than wine? Too many associations.” she said, 

He found some mango flavored rum, present from Molly. Sherlock made a valiant effort and talked about the girls’ experiment, feeling very uncomfortable, what had he been thinking?

Charlie, however, had a chosen topic. “Sherlock, We don’t really know each other, but I think we do kind of share a situation here...my wife, that is Lizbeth and I, are getting a divorce. Sorry, but Nyla and Rosie talk, so I know you are going through the same.”

Sherlock looked at her in rather stunned silence.

“Look, I’ve only been living here for the last couple of years. I’m an American, from Tennessee. It might as well be a different world. I have a bunch of family, and they’re accepting and open and they love us...but they’re back home. I have nobody here, I only had Lizbeth. I’ve seen you, both of you guys and you look so well, so put together. I’m a mess. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I cry all the time. I just wanted to talk, to ask you how you manage. Are you over him? Are you dating?”

Sherlock sat, looking at her and blinking. Dr. Quentin’s advise to make new friends flashed insistent in his mind. “Sherlock? Sherlock?” Charlie looked alarmed. 

“While I’m pleased to hear that I look well put together, I assure you Charlene, I have not had an easy time…”

He stood up, got a bottle of gingerale and some ice and mixed new drinks for them. Soon, they were deep in conversation. Sherlock had known Lizbeth came from money and was bisexual. He had not known she had been married to a man many years ago. Upon moving back to London with Charlie and Nyla, her family had started a successful campaign to separate them. Charlie told Sherlock this was both women’s second marriage, but Charlie had been sure Lizbeth was “the one”. They had been happy, until they moved to London and Lizbeth’s work and family interfered.

“So has John dated?” Charlie asked.

“Extensively, from what I understand.” Sherlock answered, drink in hand.

“He’s bi, right? He’s dated women and men?”

“I only know about the women. But I think that’s what he missed, when he was with me. He was also married before we were together, to Rosie’s mother. She passed away, but their marriage was already quite troubled.”

“Liz dates men. Her family convinced her marrying a man of her status would be good for business or the family or some nonsense. I can’t believe she truly likes it. Have you dated?” Charlie wanted to know.

“I did, I guess, for a time. I made a friend. I like to dance and met him at a club. We-went out for a while, it was more of a friendly arrangement.” 

“You mean you had sex. Tell me about him.”

The fact that Charlie was going through many of the same things Sherlock had made talking easy. They stayed up quite late. They also managed to finish the rum. 

*********

“Sherlock!! Wake up!! Charlie is making chicken and waffles!! You have to come see!! Come on!!” Rosie was so excited.

Sherlock got up, put his dressing gown on and brushed his teeth. He got to the kitchen all bed headed, in time for Charlie to teach him how to season and bread the chicken strips and the secrets of her excellent buttermilk waffles, as Rosie and Nyla took turns filming it on Rosie’s computer.

The girls worked on their project, washing the dolls’ hair and writing notes about the results. Then they tried different methods to curl the remaining dolls’ hair, again leaving their hair to dry. After a lunch of pasta, the girls and Charlie played karaoke, with Rosie being the best voice. The dolls’ hair resulted in various different degrees of curls, each technique and doll properly documented, the process filmed and the mess picked up.

*******

Sunday evening, after her shower, John called her over to the living room. “Did you girls do your project, Rosie?”

“Oh! Yeah! Let me get my computer and I’ll show you! It was so much fun!!” So she ran to get it, came back and opened the video files for John to see.

“Sherlock worked too?” Said John “I thought you girls were supposed to do it alone.”

“Well, he helped open the markers and mix them with the alcohol. He checked the mixing of the colors, and the water temperatures the next morning. Anyway, everybody helped. Charlie recorded, and then she helped us with the hair coloring. She made us the best breakfast in the morning!”

John’s senses were suddenly all awake. “Excuse me what? Breakfast?”

“Yep!! She stayed over, because it was her day with Nyla…” She looked at John’s startled face and added hurriedly, ”...Sherlock was so good! We heard them talking and laughing when we were..um...falling asleep!” 

The surge of...surprise? Anger? Fuck might as well call it what it was...jealousy, spiked through John. Sherlock and Charlie. She was blond, blue eyed and had a nice, well rounded body. She was a nurse, with quite an extensive knowledge of medical and anatomical conditions. Sherlock could find her interesting. They wouldn’t have...Not with the girls. No! The girls were on a whole different floor, if they had been in Sherlock’s bedroom. 

John shook his head. What was he thinking? By his own admission, women were not Sherlock’s area. If he hadn’t explored with Adler, he wouldn’t ...right? John thought back at Luther. That had been painful. There was no denying what had been going on there. And John saw right through Luther. Whatever Greg had assured John, Luther had some kind of feelings for Sherlock. John had seen it when they met. No denying Sherlock held hands with Luther in a very public place, where Luther’s family was. Granted, the git didn’t seem overly affected when the man went back to the States, but Sherlock could be very hard to read. After the DJ, Sherlock had not gone back to the clubs, nor had he mentioned any more “friends” to John’s knowledge. Sherlock’s “relationship” with Luther had been hard for John to accept, but they had been broken up during that time. Now, John was determined to win Sherlock back. If his genius entered a relationship now...No. Not happening.

John decided to send a text. “Hey! Saw the videos! Looks like the experiment was a success! And like everyone had fun! I kind of wished I’d been there too.” Not that he would have gone. It was Sherlock’s night and he never got invited to the “New 221B” as he thought of it, but he had worked late last night.

To his surprise, Sherlock answered:

-It was a very interesting evening. The girls were very smart and capable. The dolls were transformed. Cleanup was shared by all. SH 

-I see you had some adult company also. How did that go?

-Surprisingly well. Charlie is smart and insightful and we happen to share experiences. Also a liking for Mango Rum. SH

John was surprised into a laugh.

-So you guys drank?

-Yes. We cheered to our ex-partners. I found it quite easy to talk to her. We discussed single parenting. She and Lizbeth collaborate less than us, apparently. SH

-Did you finish the experiment? Or are you getting together again?

-We will each supervise half of the project write ups. We talked about getting together for some coffee and conversation when we don’t have the girls. Yes, I would have liked for you to share the evening with us. SH

That decidedly made John as giddy as a teenager. So what if Sherlock and Charlie were talking. Good for Sherlock to make new friends. Sherlock had thought of him. Maybe even missed him. That seemed like some progress to John.

*******

Sherlock had made up his mind to visit Rosie’s school, interview her teachers and access her student account the next day. However, Donovan appeared at his door the next morning with news that three more homeless men were reported missing. These men were again younger than the initial veterans and apparently drug addicts. Sherlock and Stewart looked for them, found one dead and two barely alive. Sherlock worked their blood samples and interviewed some of his homeless network, to piece the story together.

On the third day, Sherlock got a voice message from an unknown number; a quiet whisper, “Sherlock...999R, please come! love you!”. He had been at Bart. One of the survivors was battling an overdose, of something that contained heroin and an element that seemed a pest poison. The other man did not have heroin or any other hard drug, there was evidence of corticosteroids, along with other substances he was working to identify. He had confirmed with Allan the mark he had found on the sole of his foot, was an injection site. Upon receiving Rosie’s emergency call, Sherlock dropped everything and headed straight to the school. The assistant in the office told him they had called John trying to reach him several times to no avail. Sherlock’s own phone showed a couple lost calls he had received while on the way, when he had been busy giving Donovan directions to the school.

Mrs Burns, looking disheveled, talked to him. “Mr Holmes, we have been calling you and Dr. Watson. Rosie is unaccounted for! She was present in all her morning classes, and at recess she was with her friends, Peggie Stamford and Nyla Woods, but she did not report to her afternoon class. The security officers at the exits maintain there has not been any students leaving the school without their parents."

“Are you sure she was not taken by anyone? Do you have cameras at the exits?”

“Yes of course, Mr Holmes. Yours is not the only student we have with security concerns. The security guards went through the footage, and all the children that left early today were clearly seen, with their respective parents.”

He asked to speak to Rosie’s friends, usually open and friendly. Today, they were wary of him, and Nyla burst into tears, almost immediately. "Here comes the Big Fuss.” At that, Sherlock looked into the calmer face of Stamford’s youngest and raised an eyebrow. Pepsi took a deep breath.

“Rosie got a note today. She has been getting scary notes for a while and we were trying to figure out who was sending them. The notes say things about her family. One said that Dr.Watson moved out of his house when he was still married to live with you. Another note said Rosie’s mum was a psychopath. There was one last week that said that you should have died instead of her mum. She showed us the notes. I told her she should show you or John, but she didn’t think it was worth it. I think she got one today, and that she didn’t want to share what it said with us.”

Sherlock thanked the girls and went back to Mrs. Burns. “This seems like it could have been someone from inside. It is improbable that a fellow student has done this and remained quiet this long. Also the patience and research necessary to go through our ancient history, archives and John’s old blog, indicates maturity beyond the primary school skill set. This shows the characteristics of an act of revenge. You can ask her teachers if they have witnessed any falling outs between Rosie and a classmate. Though I doubt the revenge is towards Rosie herself.” Mrs Burns went immediately.

Then he spoke to Ms Burns’ personal assistant, “Think. Where is there a landline phone close to a closet, or hiding place? It wouldn’t be a classroom in use. We need to look for her, she might be hiding.”

Sherlock left a voice message for John, then rushed to start the search, hoping Rosie had been able to hide. Mrs. Burns told him she saw a phone very close to the edge of this desk, but didn’t find anything in the art supply closet in the art room behind the stage. The two of them ran back, Sherlock yelling at the janitor, who was about to enter the classroom, to stop. They went in, Sherlock looked at the phone, at the hiding space under the desk. He opened the desk drawers. Saw it. Other than the placement of the phone, there were no signs of a hurried call. Sherlock looked in the art supply closet. Cans of paint, a couple of stacked easels, large cardboard trifolds. “Watson?” he called, “it’s me, it’s Sherlock.” There was no response, not the smallest sound. Sherlock proceeded. “LB, this is WSSH Bumble - 221 Vatican Cameos.”

He felt his heart restart when he heard “Sh-Sherlock? Is it really you?”. Now he saw the fluff of her curls, and her eyes, looking at him from the small top shelf of the closet, hidden behind the Styrofoam peanuts and the crepe paper. He had to get a chair to stand on to help her down. Rosie clung to him, as Ms. Ruiz came running in to see what was going on in her art room.

“Señor del Cielo, que paso aqui?” She asked, looking at all the scattered materials. “Rosie, are you alright? Mr. Holmes, what happened here?”

Sherlock saw only genuine concern for Rosie, so he gave her the basic facts. She told him she had no problem cleaning up.

“Well done, Watson. That was truly brilliant, how you hid in a safe place and managed to call me! You are so brave, little bee.” Rosie took a watery breath and hid her face in his neck. When she had calmed down some, Sherlock talked to her in a gentle voice, “Little Bee, could you please show me the notes you have received? They must be in your school bag.”

Rosie had stuffed her school bag into the desk drawer Sherlock had seen.

Rosie explained, "When I opened my ChromeBook in class to write our sentences, I saw there was a message, but I didn’t read it until I was done with my work. It said that they were tired of waiting for me to respond to them with the bank numbers, and that they were going to get me anytime. I panicked and called you. Remember when we were talking about terror attacks? You said to look for a place to hide that had a phone nearby. I went into a couple of empty rooms, but then I remembered, Mrs. Ruiz’s desk has a phone and there is the supply closet behind it.”

Rosie had stuffed her school bag into one of the desk drawers. She took her school ChromeBook out and showed him the photographs. Rosie had taken pictures of each note after she read it, and hid it in a folder she named “English Essay first draft”. This had just proven extremely valuable, as the notes had been erased. 

The notes had started with infantile messages “Aren’t you ashamed to have two fathers?. A pretty girl like you deserves a mom.” and “Stay away from the detective, he’ll make you a freak like him.” The last ones showed a definite escalation. “I have already instructed you on how to look for your mother’s hidden accounts. If you continue to ignore me, I will abduct you from school. You have no idea who I am, but I promise you, you would never see your dads again.” and “We are done waiting. You have failed in providing us simple information you could have found in your own home. Expect to be with us anytime today.”

As Sherlock and Rosie walked back towards the Headmistress’ office, John came running to them.

“Rosie!! Rosie!! Oh my God! Sherlock...!” Once in John’s arms, Rosie let go the flood of tears.

Gianna had finished picking up the art supplies and came to the office, pushing a food cart with tea service for them. She talked soothingly with Rosie and John. Sherlock tried hard not to pay attention and harder yet not to think of… When at some point he looked up at John, he found him looking at Rosie. Sherlock got a text from Stewart, letting him know he was on the way.

*********

John was waiting for Sherlock who had finished talking with the art teacher. He saw the upper grades soccer coach march past him and go directly to grab Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and pull him off the ground. John got up immediately and hurried towards them, as Gianna hurriedly took Rosie away.

“So it’s true!! You!! What the hell are you doing here, huh?" The coach’s eyes were bulging out of his face. “Come to ruin another woman’s job?”

“Take your hands off of me!!” yelled an indignant Sherlock “What are you on about?”

“Oh, so you don’t even remember. What is it with you, you fag, that you can’t see an honest woman work without trying to ruin her.” 

At this John stepped towards them. “Mr Reids, I strongly suggest you go back to your gym. Sherlock is here on police business.”

“I don’t see any police! It’s just like when you came and ruined poor Ms O'Keillie’s career with your nonsense!! You made such a mess, they never called her to substitute again!”

“At this point I have no idea who you are talking about…,” Sherlock managed to step away from the man.

“Ms O’Keillie? The substitute director you got fired, when your ex came to his senses, threw you out with the trash and took you off of the child’s papers. You made such a racket the higher uppers never called her again.” Reid growled.

Sherlock was stunned into silence. Then, “Had she been a true professional, she could have handled the situation better. That said, I never submitted any formal complaint. About my more personal life, that has noth…”

“You didn’t need to submit a complaint! You self-righteous weirdo! The whole neighborhood heard!" The Coach started walking towards Sherlock

“Oh! I see now, Coach Reids! You want me to apologize to you for the loss of your lover’s job! Are you helping her with the bills, now that she is working for less pay? Is your wife starting to notice? Do you feel like you are finally going to have to choose between them?”

“Ha! At least I get my choice you queer, freaking bastard! At least my “best friend”, didn’t throw me to the curb cause he was fed up and couldn’t wait to see the last of …” He never finished his sentence, his words being interrupted by a mighty confrontation with John Watson’s fist.

Sherlock looked at him, open mouthed. He could only say, “John!”

“If you are done, Reids, you really need to leave. If you want to continue the conversation about my partner, we can do so outside school limits. I don’t mind. Half the Yarders are my friends. At most I’ll get a nice private cell for the night and a free dinner.”

The coach left, in a huff. Sherlock looked at John, who stopped him when he tried to talk. “Not a word. He was all kinds of disrespectful with no provocation on your part. He had no right to say any of that, and it’s not true. I’m still your best friend. Dam if I’m going to let people insult you in my presence.” Sherlock stayed behind for a minute, entering this into his mind palace, for later consideration.

They went to pick Rosie up from the art room, where Gianna had hurriedly taken her. John took Rosie back home to the flat, but only after Sherlock had promised to join them for dinner, as she needed them both with her.

Sherlock stayed back with Stewart, going over the notes on Rosie’s computer. “These look like they have two authors, Mr Holmes.” said the younger man.

“Obviously, Stewart. One of them starts out simply enough, just unpleasantness. Something to make a child squirm. The notes divide here.” Sherlock pointed to one of the notes midway. “You can tell easily, given not only the change in vocabulary level, but also the escalation in the tone and intent of the intimidation.” Stewart compared the notes.

Sherlock continued; “Reid basically gave himself away today. I wonder if he knows just how cold blooded his mistress is. She went from joining him in his intimidation plans, to get even with me for getting her fired, to searching for Mary’s information, in secured information channels, and developing threats that would terrify a child. She even goes as far as telling Rosie that she is destined to become her mother.” Sherlock had been texting Donovan as he spoke, and the Yard was already on their way to arrest the couple.

As he listened to Sherlock, Stewart could see him get more and more irate. He sent his own message to Donovan. Sherlock agreed to ride in Stewart’s car as it was undercover.

*********

Donovan had the suspects on their way when the two men got to the Yard. She reminded Sherlock to keep his head. Even then, she gave Reid to Stewart to interrogate. Sherlock did not protest, and headed to question the lover, former substitute headmistress, Fiona O’Keilie.

“So O’Keilie, you went from working for children to threatening them in such a short period of time. What was your thought process for such a plan?”

“Well I had a lot of time on my hands, didn’t I? I confess it was Douglas’ idea at first. Stupid Douglas couldn’t write a decent note, and kept making the same spelling errors. He was giving himself away, you know? Truthfully I was quite done with him by that point. However, I tempepd at a computer programming office and the bloke who worked there wanted to impress me by telling me he had collaborated with the government, MI5, I believe, by looking up delicate information. On a lark, I gave him your partner’s name, and Mary Elizabeth Watson popped up. After a bit of eyelash flitting it was easy to get him to unearth her history for me. He was delighted to. I confess I found it fascinating, all that lurid history. 

There really was a lot to learn from Mary Morstan. Not only was she an assassin, she was also a master in creating new identities. Your friend isn’t the first husband she left behind! She was a master at diverting funds to unsuspected places! It’s believed she has hidden a small fortune in different countries.Tempting, don’t you think? Really not much hope as to finding it, but you would think the girl would have the right to know her mother was a genius too, albeit an evil one. Those notes about her being just like her mum where just put in for revenge, and to satisfy Douglas. The poor sod thought he had a chance with me. I just had some fun. How long do you think I will get, with no proof against me and paper notes covered in Douglas’ DNA?”

Sherlock had a hard time not reacting to her sheer nerve. “It seems O’Keiley, that you have made a tactical mistake. You chose to target a child that has as parents an MI5 Army Captain and a Consulting Detective. She took pictures of every note you sent her. In them there are links to your email account. You have just confessed to harassing and endangering a minor, who you will find has not been left unprotected by the forces that stopped her mother. That, and at this moment you have helped us find and detain the leak that gave you secured information. Having seeked access to use as part of criminal activity will count against you, O’Keiley.”

The woman did not seem flustered about any of it, “Tell me one thing, though, Detective. Why? Why did you take it upon yourself to raise the little bastard knowing her mother was an evil mastermind? The woman shot you. She hated you. Her daughter has her DNA. You better watch out; the little bitch might murder you in your sleep.” She laughed.

“This concludes my interview with you. You will now be at the tender mercy of D.I. Donovan, who has been listening. She does not take endangering little girls lightly.” Sherlock fled the room, before he forgot the cameras, and his usual non-violence towards women policy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I will recommend Khorazir's whole series Over/Under [ Over Stair and Under Stair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/702144/chapters/1294505) This is the reunion Sherlock and John should have had. Very different, very emotional and beautifully written and illustrated! If you want to give the music a listen, go to [Will You Take Me Home?](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosie, safe and at home at last, finds out what Sherlock thinks of her behaviour. John gets a chance to explain his actions, but is Sherlock ready to move on? As they are both busy, Sherlock with work, John with his and his drawings, we get a glimpse of what they are working on in therapy. (Welcome to this universe's take on S4). John joins Sherlock when there is a break on the Missing Veteran's Case, with some..., interesting developments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never be able to thank [Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [Loveismyrevolution.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) Without their kindness and support, I could not have posted this chapter. I will forever be thankful to this fandom and this story, as it led me to them.

[Crowded House-Don't Dream It's Over](https://youtu.be/XjBwAYIxUso)

At the flat, Rosie was having difficulty calming down. “Where’s Sherlock? Please, call him! Please let him come here John, I want both of you today, please!”

John held her closer. “He texted me a while ago, he’s on his way and bringing fish and chips for us. Of course I called him.” 

“I’m scared he’s going to be so angry at me! I should have told you both! I should have…”

At that moment Sherlock came in, arms full. John took the food and Rosie almost tackled him, in her hurry to get into his arms. Her head went onto the crook of his neck, and she started crying again. “I’m sorry Sherlock. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you!! I wanted to...but it felt like such a...a dirty thing!!”

Sherlock sat down with her on his lap, his Belfast open and light sweat on his forehead. John busied himself setting up.

“Shh Little Bee, everything is fine now. You were in no way responsible for what happened today. In no way. And if it was a dirty thing for the perpetrators to do, they are the filth, not you. They are in jail now. At Donovan’s tender mercy.”

“I was scared they would take me with them. I was afraid they would do something to John and you!” Rosie cried

Sherlock took her hands away from her face, “I believe these people, very unlike you, did not have enough intelligence to carry out their plans. You, on the other hand love, were just brilliant!”

“Me? Brilliant? How?” Rosie’s breath was still slightly hitching.

“You photographed all the evidence and filed it in your personal memory stick. You found a landline to call me from, that had a hiding place close by, and remembered my number. You hid brilliantly and stayed put. You didn’t even answer Ms. Ruiz when you heard her calling, only responded to me when you heard our safe phrase.”

“You really think I was smart? I’m so sorry I called you at work, when this case was only a two…”

“Rosie, never hesitate to call me! For me any case that involves you or John...or Mrs. Hudson…” he added hurriedly, “...is an automatic ten.”

They felt ready to have the fish and chips then, afterwards settled on watching some telly, with the men sitting on the sofa next to each other and Rosie laying on top of them, head on Sherlock's lap, feet on John’s. She wanted both men to put her to bed and made Sherlock promise he would stay for breakfast. 

So after Rosie finally fell asleep, John prepared tea, turned the telly on, and heard about what O’Keily had said. The Yard had to find out who she had gotten the information from. 

Sherlock was worried, “John. I found this experience very frightening. All this, it made me want to ask Mycroft to assign people in Rosie’s school. I really can’t tolerate the thoughts of what could have happened to her.”

John didn’t think that Mycroft was the solution, “Let’s think about that a little before we ask him. Fortunately these people are clearly amateurs. Not only is she ok, she’s shown us how well she can react in this kind of situation…”

“That she possesses the ability to think fast and act instead of freezing does not mean she doesn’t need to be protected!” Now Sherlock was getting upset.

“Of course not! I’m just saying, let’s cool our heads before we go overboard. It’s over, right? You did great. You kept your head, delegated tasks, gathered the info, and found them. Then got a confession out of the woman.”

Sherlock explained, “While the coach was the person who initially thought of the notes, and drew up a plan, the substitute, O’Keiley was the real mastermind. She really went in deep through Mary’s history and took the most disturbing facts to upset Watson. She befriended an MI5 colaborator, who has already been identified, and tried to get Watson to discover her mother’s hidden stashes of money. I believe Coach had no idea that she had gone that far, or that she had been using him all the time to pay her rent.”

“Not surprising, he is such an idiot! He never even noticed he was getting it off with a psycho! My poor baby is now terrified of her mother! I hope that woman stays in jail for a long time. The coach deserves to do time too! He certainly behaved like a moron to you. Serves him right!” Exclaimed John. 

Sherlock was looking at the floor, and his fingers were drum, drum, drumming on his thigh. He took a deep breath, “Incidentally John, I have a couple of questions for you: First, why did you hit him? You know I’m used to being called all sorts of epithets, it never bothers me. Second, why did you call me your ‘partner’? You broke up with me. Besides, you never called me that to begin with. I was always your ‘best friend’.”

John sighed. “Sherlock, the man lay his hands on you. He called the smartest man alive a freak. He spoke about your private life. Insulted you! You are brilliant and beautiful. You can have your pick of lovers and companions. Just look at Luther! You are not alone and will never be. That he dared say I ‘threw you out’!”

He took a minute to breathe, and went on, “...about the ‘partner’ bit… Sherlock, I screwed up in many ways when we were together. I’m just realising lots of the things that were so not good; we weren’t just friends, even best friends. We were life partners. I should have always introduced you as such, to everyone. I was a coward. I guess I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing we are broken up, not when I don’t feel that things are over between us.”

Neither man dared look at the other for a long time. Sitting with their silence between them. John noticed Sherlock’s tells, the bouncing leg, the drumming fingers, the little head tics...not good.

Finally, after apparently gathering some strength, Sherlock said, “I don’t know what you mean John. It has been hard for me to understand this break up between us. You left home and said we were broken up, and that it meant we were done, over, no more. You stopped talking to me. Then we worked together through Watson’s school issues. You cheated on your girlfriend with me, but you took me off of Watson’s list. Then we fought, and you took her away from me. That was it ... I could not have contact with you anymore. I was not well, The worst since the Smith case. Now - you are ...behaving differently. I don't know what you... I certainly did not expect... this from you ever...ugh, no more now… no words...Too much. I…,” Sherlock became more agitated throughout his speech

He had been breathing hard, pulling on his hair, now he got up and went into the bedroom, wanting to be next to Rosie, the sight of her, in the partial darkness, the familiar smell. He went around the bed to touch her fingers, reaching out to him on the sheets in her sleep. John had said he made mistakes. Called him his partner. He didn’t feel things were over. Funny that. Sherlock had just started admitting to himself they were done for good. No. No. Just breathe. Look at Watson, focus on her. 

***********

John sat alone in the silence and wanted a drink so bad. Out of all the ways a conversation with Sherlock could have gone, this was the worst outcome. Sherlock’s heartbreak and confusion shamed and hurt John profoundly. Listening to Sherlock describe the latest stage of their lives, he understood how he could be confused. John was confused himself. That bit, about his state after he thought John took Rosie away, was worrying. Just how bad had things gotten? Had Sherlock made up his mind that they could never be together again? John told himself it didn’t matter, he would take anything Sherlock could give and be content, but the truth was, he desperately wanted for Sherlock to take him home. Because home was not a place. Not just 221B. It was the man. It was Sherlock.

After a long time, John got up and checked the bedroom. Rosie was sleeping in the bed. Sherlock was sitting against her bed stand, slumping, his head against the bed frame, his long finger hooked with one of hers. John took a blanket and covered him up, not daring to wake him, and knowing he would hurt like hell next morning.

Rosie was delighted to wake up to see Sherlock sleeping next to her. In reality he had only gotten in bed, fully clothed, an hour before. They got up, deciding Rosie was going back to school, it was the day to present her experiment. Nayla was taking the picture album they had put together, and Rosie and John had given the final artistic touches to the tri-fold she was taking. Charlie was going to the school to assist and take pictures. It was Sherlock’s day so he was taking Rosie’s overnight bag with her things. They did have breakfast together, with Sherlock drinking only the coffee and making sure he and John were not alone one second, escaping as soon as Watson was ready for school. 

“I will be in touch, Sherlock.” He said, and the detective heard, but did not acknowledge it.

“Let me know if you want me to drop Watson off here or if you want to go to Mrs. Hudson. It’s Sunday morning this time, right?”

“Yes. I’ll go by Baker Street, no problem.”

Sherlock left without having made eye contact once. When John went to pick Rosie up, he went in to see Mrs. Hudson, as always, and Sherlock was a no show. He did however, treat them to the violin. John had been so long without hearing Sherlock play, his eyes watered and his throat clogged up in the middle of what he was saying to Mrs. Hudson over their tea. She just put her hand over his, and they listened, for a long while.

**********

John didn’t hear from him for the next two weeks. In his spare, non Rosie nights, he had taken to drawing his comics. He had one of him and Sherlock eating indian food. He also made one of Rosie and Nyla, curling the dolls’ hair. His favorite was one of Sherlock, with a small smile on his face, telling a distraught Rosie she had been brave. He also made a ‘serious’ sketch of Sherlock, his face while John had been talking about his mistakes. Sherlock’s expression of disbelief. John wanted it as a reminder of just how much work he had to do. He compared it to the picture he had taken of Sherlock covered in bubbles, smiling happily. That’s how he wanted to make Sherlock feel. Safe and happy.

*********

Sherlock was working. At an astounding pace. He had even pursued private clients, calling some out, based on the crimes in the newspapers. The goal was to be busy, to not be able to think. With Luther gone, he didn’t want to resume his dance nights, but the boxing, and the indoor climbing were on. The only exception were his Watson days, when he dedicated his early mornings to his routine, and to writing up his cases, experiments or blog. In this he was doing much better than in his earlier attempts, thanks to John’s modeling. He was now giving research tips along with observation and memory techniques. Comments and responses were quite positive. His wall at home had three different colored pins. Donovan and Harris communicating with him constantly. 

The one case that kept him up at night was the disappearing veterans. He knew by now that they had interactions with people or an organisation that provided them with medicine, but the veterans were very reluctant to share details. Even those in his homeless network were recalcitrant. He had disappeared into his mind palace for a couple of days, and emerged with an idea that led him to check on lists of volunteers studying in uni, especially in chemistry or medicine classes. Sherlock had hacked into the graduate student information and was comparing the photographs with the drawings found with the evidence with little luck

Watson’s presence, however, put a stop to his work, except for the mornings before she woke up and the late evenings, after she went to bed. Donovan knew not to call. Greg and Mycroft were on call for Watson care on the days Sherlock had to go to Dr. Quentin. Mycroft introduced Watson to various board games, as he had done with Sherlock, and Rosie was now very good at them. Greg took her out to the zoo, and to have ice or to the movies. 

********

Sherlock considered he had made good progress with doctor Quentin. He was able to talk about his cases, his interactions with Donovan and Harris and Stewart. They spent ten minutes talking about his interactions with Harris in particular, as the doctor asked many questions. He pointed out to Sherlock that Harris’ behaviors were flirtatious, while Stewart’s were not. Sherlock had paid little mind to it after he had told Harris he did not date coworkers (of sorts). Sherlock told Dr.Q about Watson’s ordeal, which had turned into a conversation about old memories and feelings about Mary.

“Mary Watson was a persona she put on. I confess I almost liked her when met her, even given the circumstances. I knew there was more than what she wanted to let on when John was taken and put in the Guy Fawkes fire. I deduced her gaslighting and emotionally abusive tendencies from her actions, as the wedding drew near. I was, however, completely unprepared for her to shoot me.” They talked about the aftermath, Magnussen and A.J.

“After that, after the baby’s baptism, everything exploded. Mary left, the baby was not weaned and did not take well to formula, John was distraught. I practically lived at his place and took the night time shifts with the baby as much as I could so he could sleep. Molly helped during the daytime, since I had to try to find Mary. After six months we had a good clue to where she was, we chased her half around the world and brought her back.”

“John was distraught because of the abandonment? He wanted his wife back?” asked Dr. Quentin.

“At the time, we thought she was running from AJ, the last member of AGRA, who was accusing her of having betrayed him. However, when we found her, we realised AJ had followed us. He had never left the country until we did. The local police ended up killing him because he was pointing a gun at Mary. I believe John wanted some kind of closure; from what he said, it was more about Rosie and also not knowing if Mary had been forced to leave, was hurt or dead. I know they were having trouble with the marriage. Actually since she shot me.”

“What was it like when she returned? Was there a rekindling of their relationship? Your friendship?’

“No. John told me they barely talked and he had taken to sleeping in the nursery. She tried to retake our friendship to get closer to John, but she would put him down, and played it as if I wanted her to be my partner in cases. We never spoke about anything other than the cases at hand in front of her. She wouldn’t take a hint. She was always with us. I wasn’t having it. John and I would text at night, to keep up with each other.

That was when I believe she started using the TD-12 on us, putting it in our food, tea, any way she could. The drug accumulates in the body. It brought upon mental confusion. We weren’t alright, by any means. John kept me away, he became angry with himself and with me, for a long time.

See, I used again after we brought Mary back. I told him that it was to lure Culverton to me, but there was really no excuse for using heroin. That was more about the fact that Mary was back in the house, living with John and the baby, after all I did to try to make him happy, to learn how to properly care for Watson. I couldn’t deal with that. Mrs. Hudson brought him to see me. John was livid. He was so mad he didn’t stay with me himself. He got some of his ex military friends to rotate guarding me as I cleaned up. Unknown to us, Mycroft was out of the country, gathering evidence against Mary. When she gave me the TD-12, I was in coke and heroin withdrawal.

The TD-12 induced waking hallucinations and a quasi hypnotic submissive state. Each of us had different experiences with the drug. John had vivid dreams of having an affair with a woman he saw on his commute. He thought Ella was working against him. Mary told him I was conspiring with Mycroft against them. Convinced him I was in love with Molly, that she had replaced him on the cases and that I wanted to imprison him to keep him from helping Mary. That’s why later he believed I had called him and Mary to the aquarium and got her shot in a confrontation with the ‘real’ villain. 

In reality, Mary summoned us both in our drugged state to a warehouse. I recorded the meeting on my phone. She confessed to us she had been Moriarty’s second hand all along, and now that Magnussen was dead, she had reconnected with Moriarty’s ‘business associates’ from around the world, she had left to claim her new territory. Later, during one of many Culverton Smith ‘confessions’ he confessed he had called Moriarty, Mary, for help covering up the true effects and uses of TD-12, so he could continue its’ production. That was how she had access to it.

In the warehouse, she aimed the gun at John first, telling me she would give it to me afterwards and I would take care of myself, to make it a murder/suicide scenario. I was able to come out of the drug enough to try to get the gun out of her hands, but she still shot John. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed his head, but I thought he was dead. I threw myself on him, too late, but just in time to give Lestrade a clear shot. He killed her. Apparently, I had texted him and Mycroft knew of the warehouse. 

John and I needed a stay in hospital. I had a psychotic break, precipitated by the drugs in my system. I believed Culverton Smith’s daughter was my sociopathic sister, and thought the hospital Mycroft took me to was a mental ward created specifically for me by her. I thought I pulled a gun on my brother, when I was really waving a scalpel around. I was sedated, and when I woke up alone, I managed to sneak out of my room and into John’s, thinking I had to rescue him from my “sister”. His condition was similar to mine. Only he had hallucinated Mary taking a bullet for me at the aquarium. When I broke into his room, he got up from his bed and beat me up thoroughly. I had to be taken to the ICU. I was there for three days, when Culverton Smith came to try to kill me, and John, who had been discharged had come to visit, saw him sneaking in my room, and saved my life. Smith’s crimes were discovered, he went into custody. I believe he still gave interviews confessing to his crimes for many years after he was imprisoned, until the inmates got tired of listening to him gloat, and killed him. 

John drank quite a lot and quite often after the Smith case closed, I believe mostly due to guilty feelings about the beating. Eventually, we were reunited, in great part due to Mrs. Hudson’s efforts. I suggested he come back home once it was better between us, and when he did, he tried to stop the drinking. He needed therapy for it. I too had to detox, and we went through it together, taking turns with Watson, who was just about two years old. We did have a lot of help, from Mrs. Hudson, my parents, Molly, the Stamfords. By the time Rosie turned three, we were back to work, sober and together.”

Dr. Quentin had nothing to add at the moment. He did get up, made tea, and gave some to Sherlock. “I wish I could give you a cigarette. If ever one was needed, it is now.” Dr Quentin wrote some things down, and thought for a while. 

“Sherlock. I want you to make at least one new friend you can do things with. New, not a mutual friend of John’s. Oh, and this time, preferably one you do not engage in intimate relations with.” Sherlock smiled at that. “I would like you to consider asking Dr. Watson if he would agree to meet with me.” Sherlock made a curious face. “...I want to be able to give you some kind of informed advice, Sherlock. If Dr. Watson is willing to come in and fill a couple of forms for me, I might better know where we stand in terms of a working parenting relationship with him.” 

Sherlock looked perplexed. He was also shaking his hand against his leg. “I don’t know if he would accept, but I can ask. As to making a friend, does the mother of one of Rosie’s classmates count? We spent time together while the girls did a project. We do happen do share some experiences.”

“Perfect! Now go out and do more with her. Maybe you can take her dancing.” Sherlock blinked for half a minute. 

*******

John submerged himself in work. He did some sleuthing during his volunteer hours with the veterans, determined to proving himself useful in cases once more. He was able to interview and document that some veterans that had people approach them about “experiments” which sounded like medical trials. They had been offered pay. Some of them simply had not been approached again, but one had talked to a “girlie” about the experiment and decided against taking the trial. John had written down the man’s name and rank. He had taken pictures of where John had found him. He was going to send the info with Sherlock as soon as he could get a break. The clinic was in the middle of a dramatic allergy and asthma season.

John also made it a point to schedule an extra session with Beverly to go over ways to support Rosie, who since the incident had taken to worrying about “how much of Mary” she had and if she was “destined” to turn evil. Beverly stressed the importance of both parents being there for her and being extra supportive, especially of her fears. She recommended family therapy, if the fears persisted.

“The thing is, Sherlock had been very busy with work on his off days, so it’s hard for us to get together. Rosie does seem to want both of us with her. She constantly takes my phone to contact him.”

“Has he complained?” asked Beverly.

“No. He is very understanding and supportive of her. He always answers, even if it’s to say he will talk to her properly later.”

“How are things going with the two of you? Do you still feel like you want to recapture what you had?” Beverly had listened to John agonise over Luther and Charlie.

“He doesn’t trust me, Beverly. He told me he is confused about our relationship of late. He thinks the only reason I would want him is… um, for sex, since that was one of the strengths of our relationship. He also said he thought I would only want him in between relationships with women.”

“Is there any substance to those fears?”

“No. I did date women for the first six months. I didn’t have sex with all of them. None of them held my interest beyond the first couple of dates…”

“Were any of your dates men, John?” Beverly asked.

“No. I just couldn’t. I mean, I do have eyes, I’ve seen quite a few attractive blokes. I was asked out by a couple of them, too. Everytime, it was like I saw Sherlock in my head.” 

“I’m interested in exploring what we have only touched on up until now, John. We have mentioned your father’s abuse. His homophobia. You made what I considered and important breakthrough, though you didn’t want to go further with it, at the time. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“We talked about my father being deeply homophobic, always saying that gay men aren’t “real men”. I had said I noticed that I have issues acting on my romantic feelings towards men. I deny them, I minimise them, and I can even project my insecurities on them and lash out at them.” 

“Do you see these situations in your relationship with Sherlock?”

“I do now. I see I took him for granted, I ignored his need to feel secure in the relationship. And I punished him by withholding affection and sex.”

“What about the anger. No violent incidents? You told me you had beaten up Sherlock in the past.”

“Yes, it did happen, while I was unknowingly under the influence of hallucinatory drugs, at the time we were working out what my wife had been doing. I felt horrid about the incident. I confess I started drinking. I ended up going to anger management therapy for years. It was the worst of times, and I have never laid a hand on him in anger again. However, my sister helped me realise I did criticise him harshly, make fun of him and singled out his mistakes. Harry said I was behaving like my emotionally abusive, dead wife.”

“You told me he is also in therapy with a specialist. Is he continuing?”

“Yes, he does seem dedicated.”

Beverly smiled, relieved. “That is a good step, John. Let’s hope he can acquire some skills to help him participate in a discussion without having a meltdown.”

“Well, now we know what to focus on. Self acceptance and self worth, communication, effective, loving interactions, reacting sensibly to a partner’s expressions. There are no guarantees that you can retake your relationship as it was, John, but you can certainly work to ensure the relationship you can have with Sherlock from here on, be it as it may, will be real, communicative and supportive. 

********

[Overdose by Alessia Cara](https://youtu.be/hrhnY316duY)

Jake Stewart was increasingly agitated. They finally, finally had a solid lead on the “Disappearing Veterans” case. Mr. Holmes had located a witness who knew of a meeting. It was time, they had to approach; and here was Mr. Holmes looking fed up, and close to him, locked into a staring match, were D.I. Harris and Dr. Watson, both intending to accompany Holmes.

“With all due respect, Dr. Watson, you do not have the clearance to participate in the Yard’s business! Sherlock needs a person who will not invalidate what he does!”

“Invalidate? I will have you know, both Sherlock and I are MI5. We have collaborated in situations much more pressing and urgent than this!”

“Be that as it may, the SI will not take nicely to the fact the suspect is delivered to him by two civilians. I must be there to ensure his safety!”

“I ensure his safety. I. Am. His. Doctor and his colleague. He would not have called me otherwise.” John had his angry smile on. Sherlock had had enough.

“Gentlemen, we must go. Harris this is not about who takes me to the ball. I work with John. I called him because of his expertise with the victims. Please let us get to this meeting in time. Stewart is a perfect representative of the Yard. He is more than able to ensure our safety and our respect for due process. John…”

With that, the three men, Stewart, John and Sherlock ran down the alley and into the abandoned house. As they approached the room their contact had specified they slowed down. It was hot and humid in it. John was grateful for his cotton vest under his shirt and for the fact that Sherlock had left Coat at 221B instead of risking death by overheating. Still, the heat was stifling, and the humidity on old piping tubes condensed into big ugly drops of water that often landed on Sherlock’s curls. John was distracted by this, and almost failed to recognise Stewart’s signal. He was surprised that instead of Sherlock running full speed after Stewart, he stayed back and talked to the man who had stayed behind, leaning against the wall

“Did he give you something?” Sherlock asked, speaking quickly, taut with anxious energy.

“Ahg, why the stupid coppers have to come, eh?... I don’t even know if he started the damn treatment.” said the veteran, who appeared drunk.

“Why was he giving you the treatment? What problem do you have?

“Oh I got the itches, real bad. The doctors just said it was the life. What with me smoking and that but I knew it wan’t just that. My arms looked like it had scales on em.”

John took a look at the man’s healing arm “Psoriasis?” 

“Dunno…,” said the man. “The young one said he could help with it, if I tried a periment medicine. He even gave me some money.” He showed them a 50 pound note. 

“Do you smell any alcohol, John? He sounds drunk and is swaying, but I don’t smell it.” Sherlock said, as he looked around the small alcove.

“No,” said John, “it must be something they injected him with, maybe an insulin base.”

“Will you stay with him? I really need to go cover Stewart.”

Sherlock had asked. He asked. John took a minute to catch his breath. “OK, yeah. Careful out there.” John looked after the detective, who now took his characteristic speed and flew out of the window up the fire escape.

John called emergency services and gave the man a more thorough check up. Definitely under the influence of something. He didn’t like that the man’s slurring got worse and his skin colder. 

Harris found them, looking embarrassed “Sorry about back there, Dr. Watson. I was out of line.”

“Yes you were, a little. But so was I. EMS?”

“Coming,” Harris said and they heard the sirens. 

John stayed until the responders took down his notes, then, with a nod to Harris, ran to see if he could find Sherlock. They had their gps on, so he found them, in time to note people closing their windows. The trio ran close to each other, John chasing them from the floor. 

The suspect and Stewart had climbed to a diner’s roof. Stewart quickly grabbed onto the man, as Sherlock joined them, but the suspect slipped just out of reach, pulling Stewart into a chokehold instead, and pointing a gun to his forehead. Sherlock held his hands out in front of himself, speaking loudly in a conciliatory tone. He moved towards them slowly. John made it to the roof stealthily, taking out his own gun, waiting, trying to control his breathing.

For Sherlock, it was exhilarating, the case finally showing an opening! The suspect within reach! Young, strong, accomplice. The man looked frightened and insecure with the gun. Looking at Sherlock, hoping for a way out. 

“There you go, calmly. You don’t want to make a mistake and hurt an officer.” He continued his slow, small steps towards them. “Just put the gun down, give us a little information…” 

That moment, Stewart elbowed the suspect, who responded instantly, tightening his hold on Stewart and pointing the gun at Sherlock. John moved quietly to a workable angle and quickly shot at the suspect’s hand, grazing it, making the man drop the gun. Stewart fell to the floor, trying to catch some air. Sherlock ran to the suspect. 

They grappled, as John ran to Stewart to perform a quick check on him. The officer was fine, but the suspect had Sherlock in a death grip. They tussled together, Sherlock heard John call out to him, but couldn’t do a thing. Felt the man push him, but clutched at him and they both fell off the roof. John screamed his name. The awning broke their fall, even as they broke it, Sherlock fell on the suspect who hit the side of a dumpster and then the floor. John came running towards them. The man got up, reaching into his pocket. Sherlock delivered a perfect right hook, under the man’s jaw and down he went. In his angst, John almost shot anyway, then saw the man go down, out cold. John then turned the suspect on his stomach, took a plastic tie from his pocket and secured his hands, then took the three steps that separated him from Sherlock, who looked at him with eyes wide open. 

“Are you alright? Sherlock where are you hurt?” he asked as his hands went up and down the detective’s torso, over the shirt. Sherlock hissed as John palmed a rib on the left side.

“I'm fine, John. I think maybe I hit my knee.” He looked down to see John handling his ripped trousers. He had quite a gash. His foot felt funny. John wasn’t looking up. “John?"

John sniffed. “The roof. You fell from the bloody roof. You were so still.”

Sherlock raised John’s face with his hand. “John. It was only a one story building. I’m fine. The suspect, though, he may have some fractured ribs. I fell on him.” he said.

John’s eyes were wide and moist. “ You bloody idiot.” he said. He took Sherlock’s face in both his hands, pulled it down to his and kissed him. Sherlock stiffened and moved away to look at him, but John just did it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's inspiring story is [Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5928004) It's a lovely reunion story with a novel approach and a very satisfying resolution!  
Also I must include a marvelous series which I go back to again and again! it includes the only Mary (Well here Maryam Murstini, which is who Mary only wishes she was) [ Truth May Vary (Post-Reichenbach series) ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/36364) by the wildly talented amalnahurriyeh  
As always, find the music at [Will You Take Me Home?](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHGJ9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e) on YouTube.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes have a busy chapter! What has gotten into John? Oh no! Sherlock is hurt. He has to spend the night at the doctor's. John gets a glimpse of Sherlock's life during his time...away. An old friend comes around to help Sherlock with the case! John is on it too. Together, they close the Missing Veterans Case! One more friend is invited to celebrate with them. John takes advantage of the situation and invites Sherlock for some drinks, further confusing him. Those pesky trust issues! John is determined to find ways to mend what was broken, some cycling, or some crepes might just be the icebreaker!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks be given to my talented and patient Betas [Dovahlock221](https;//archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [Loveismyrevolution](https;//archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution)without whom I would not be posting this chapter today. A special dedication of the first song "Soldier" to my guys. I'm the soldier now.  
A word about the case of the MV. I did put in a decent amount of google research in order to present a case that sounded possible. As I have no training in chemistry or medical research, I have used creative license extensively. Please forgive any glaring errors (you can pm me on tumblr)

[ Gavin DeGraw - Soldier](https://youtu.be/3_A4Sy5ZxPO)

John had been looking at him in concern. His eyes had been soft, caring? He had felt his torso with a doctor’s detachment, but his voice had been shaky. He was concerned for his ex-partner. Sherlock had been alarmed to see John’s eyes were moist and scared. Associations with the fall? After all this time? Even after he explained, John was still upset. Then, unexpectedly, he had pulled him down and kissed him. Sherlock’s heart had already been racing with the adrenaline of the chase and the capture. The kiss stopped any foreign thought processes. He stepped back, trying to breathe, to make some sense of this unprecedented behavior. John had never kissed him in public. Not even when they had been in the hot, early days of their relationship. Just as he took in a much needed gulp of air, John did it again, holding on tight to him, pushing his body against the detective’s.

Sherlock’s arms acquired a mind of their own, and started wrapping around his ex-lover. His body and the logical part of his brain shut off, and the doctor’s presence, his hands grabbing his neck, arm around his waist, his tongue in his mouth, John’s body pressed to his, possessive, allowed one thought only; John, John, John. After they had been at it for a while, a clearing of a throat and “L.I. Harris approaching, sirs.” 

Brought back to his senses, he disengaged, stepped back and put his palms up when John stepped towards him. John then saw Harris, turned around and walked towards the suspect. Sherlock turned away from Harris and feigned a cough attack, wishing desperately for his Belstaff, heat notwithstanding, to help him cover up the state John had left him in. Then he took a step towards the EMS car that had arrived and felt the pain in his foot. Looking down, the mangled state of his shoe turned his stomach. His right foot. The world tilted a little.

******

John saw Sherlock take a step and go pale. For a moment he looked as if he was going to pass out. He got to him just in time to keep him from falling. “My foot.. The foot” said Sherlock in a whisper.

John looked at Sherlock’s face for a minute, not understanding. Then he looked down at his shoe. It was torn, ripped, destroyed. “The one they broke in Colombia?” Sherlock had shared few details of his time away. He had mentioned that his torturers in *Colombia had broken his foot. No further details had been asked for, or provided. Now, John thought this must have been one of the more traumatic experiences, given the near panicky tone of Sherlock’s voice. Sherlock nodded his head in answer, apparently unable to talk. Not good.

The EMS had to call for a backup, as they were taking Mr. Bennes, the witness, to hospital to find out what he had been injected with and to ensure he was healthy. Now they were strapping the suspect, who was drowsy and refused to talk, to another cot, but they needed another vehicle. As the first ambulance left, the EMS paramedic tried to look at Sherlock’s foot, but in his near panic, he refused to be touched. John helped him take off his shoe and a very bloody sock. “There we are, just let him check your foot, love.” Said John, holding his hand.

Sherlock was distracted by looking at John’s face, trying to process how John calling him ‘love’ put their most recent interactions to the forefront, as the paramedic looked at the foot. “Move your toes, sir, please.” He did, sinking his nails in John’s arm. The EMT checked the sole of the foot, the ankle and the heel.

“I doesn’t appear to be broken, or sprained, sir. Mashed up and torn, yes. You should go to hospital and get x-rays. That is going to need some stitching and anti inflammatories. A cane would help keep your weight off of it.”

“No hospital,” said Sherlock in a small voice. “John, please”.

John looked at him in concern, and told the paramedic, “If he’s in too much pain, or loses the ability to move his toes, I’ll take him to the A&E. I’m a doctor. His doctor. I can stitch him up and prescribe the medicine he needs. I also have a cane and crutches he can use.” Harris came around, apparently, not having seen John and Sherlock… busy. John briefed him about gaining custody of the suspect. Harris asked Sherlock some questions, but got no responses.

“He has cuts and bruises that need attention. I’ll take him home and patch him up. Let him rest. He can go to the station tomorrow.”

Sherlock was very quiet in the cab. John held his pinkie with his smaller one. Sherlock allowed the contact. He eventually said: “John, best drop me off at Baker Street. I won’t be good company tonight.”

“Come with me to the flat. Rosie will be there. You can sleep with her or on the couch.”

“If I fall asleep and have a nightmare, I may be disoriented, and throw things around. She’ll scare.”

“She loves you. She has seen nightmares, Sherlock. She won’t be scared. She will be angry if I let you go back to Baker Street to be alone.”

That Sherlock allowed himself to be convinced so easily was a hint at how shaken he was.

******

At John’s flat, Sherlock had a double whiskey, as John cleaned his foot up, put five stitches in the longer gash and treated the smaller ones with butterfly bandages. 

Sherlock started talking: “I told you some of my life in Colombia. I was passing as an up and coming drug dealer. Adrian was the prodigal son of the state’s governor. He was a bohemian who used recreationally. He bought from me and eventually invited me to share his flat. I knew he… was attracted to me. When I made a wrong move, sold stuff I made myself to some blokes I was trying to get information from, I was captured. They thought I was a spy from their rival group. I had no information for them. Obviously, they didn’t believe me. They beat me up, waterboarded me, gave me no food for days. They drugged me. At some point, I slipped and twisted my ankle. I must have favoured it, because from then on they seemed to focus on breaking my foot and stomped on it to insure it was useless. I was so drugged I didn’t feel it. They gave up on me. Luck was on my side and they threw me in a ditch at the garbage yard, unable to move but alive. Once it started to hurt, it turned excruciating. An old man found me and took pity. He called “los gringos”, some american missionaries, who took me to hospital. 

Someone there recognized me and called Adrian. He took me home after I had an operation, medicated me with cocaine and occasionally something extra, and took care of me. I was truly a mess, John. Most of the time I thought I was still with my captors. I clung to Adrian. He would tend to my cuts and bruises, give me foot rubs, and put balm on it. Adrian tried to make me eat, sleep, stay in the flat. He gave me drugs for the pain. He would find me under the tables, or behind the couch and bring me to the bed to sleep. I would give him back massages and let him fuck me.” What Sherlock didn’t tell him was how many times Adrian had said to him, “_No soy John, carambas. Soy Adrian, Adrian_” (I’m not John ffs, I’m Adrian, Adrian)

******

Then Sherlock stopped talking. John wrapped his foot up in bandages and helped him to the living room. Rosie and Molly came in then. Both overjoyed to see Sherlock there. Molly went to the kitchen to “help” John.

“Soooo…” she whispered to him with a smile, bumping his shoulder with hers “...I take it no more african boyfriends….”

“He is hurt, Molly. I asked him to come so I could fix him up. You know he doesn’t like hospitals. He agreed to stay here so I could monitor him. That’s all.” said John, not looking up. 

“But you want more, right?” she said. “You’re going to take the break up back?”

“It’s not like I have a receipt Molly. He’s not open to anything with me now, other than friendship and working on cases. It has to be enough.”

“But that is the way you started anyway, right? He’ll come around, John. You two have to end up together. You have been through way too much.”

“I hope so. I think he may still… anyway, don’t say anything about this to him. Please. Let’s just see what happens.”

They had a pleasant evening with Molly there. Rosie was very happy to have her men together under the same roof. She played chess with Sherlock, and she sang some songs with her Karaoke app. She insisted both men put her to bed. 

Once Watson was asleep, and before Sherlock said anything about going home. John brought out the inflatable mattress. It was much more comfortable than it looked. He put clean linen on it and offered it to Sherlock. “I’ll take the sofa. That way, if you have a nightmare, I’ll be close and you won’t get to Rosie.” So Sherlock stayed. 

The nightmares did find him. He didn’t scream, or throw things. He woke John with his thrashing about and his mumbling. Then John realized he was talking in Spanish:

“A_drian, ayudame… Mira! Ella... me mato! . Ayudame no me dejes_…” Sherlock was reaching out, calling his ex-lover of over a decade ago. (Adrian help me...Look! She...killed me! Help me...don’t leave!)

John sat next to him, grabbing his extended hand, putting his other hand in his hair. “I’m here, love. I’m here. Talk to me in English…” 

“Don’t you pretend to be him, _mierda_. It doesn’t work. He left me, anyway.”

“Sherlock, you’re in London. You’re home, love. Not alone. We’re here.”

Sherlock gasped and woke up. “John?”

"Yes. You were having a nightmare. How is your foot? Do you need some medicine?” John was holding his hand, but using a neutral, doctor like tone. 

Sherlock thought for a while and moved his foot around some. “Apparently, there isn’t much pain. I don’t think I need medicine. Thank you for waking me up.”

“Would you like some tea?’ John asked.

“Yes, thank you, John.”

So John put the kettle on and talked about the witness, wondering what they had found in the hospital. When he brought the mug over to Sherlock. He found him profoundly asleep once more. 

*******

Molly watched him and shook her head quietly. It had been so long since he last had come to work close to her. Today, inexplicably he had come in, to use her computer, as if he didn’t have a phone, or his own tablet/computer at home or at the Yard. She didn’t complain, She had missed him. Sherlock typed away, apparently corresponding with someone.

“What are you up to?”

“Chatting with an old friend Molly. Wiggins.”

“Sherlock!! Why would you do that from my office? You’re looking to score? You want me to stop you?”

“Molly, for goodness sake, don’t be idiotic! That was then, and this is now. Bill is a proper pharmacist. He works as head of Sanoff review teams for new medicine.

“Hhph! Don’t you have any other, healthier contacts, Sherlock. Really!”

"He is healthy. As I said, chief of division. He is the big wig of product safety Molly. The man is sharp as a tack. Now let me talk to him and go bring me a coffee or something.”

Molly walked over to the computer and turned it off. “Now who is stuck in the bloody past! If you are going to be a nuisance, you can go back to the Yard. Donovan is your buddy, let her get you coffee!!”

Sherlock looked at her wide eyed, then laughed. “Point taken Molly. I apologize. Don’t be angry. Answer the phone nicely, will you?” He said the moment before it rang.

“Hello? Oh. Mr.Wiggins. Yes, this is she. Really? And how would you know that? Well yes, as a matter of fact, I was. Two years in a row, yes. Interesting, Mr. Wiggins and thank you. Yes, of course he is. Very well, then. Yes, yes. Goodbye.” Molly had a little color in her cheeks. “He was at both conferences where they gave me the teaching awards.” She said almost to herself. “He congratulated me and said he heard my speech the first year, told his girlfriend he was proud to know me.” 

“Well you didn’t ever slap him…,” said Sherlock as he took the phone, and continued to discuss with Billy the differences between the drugs administered to the first veterans, and the last witness, Donald Bennes, who was now living in a public housing flat. He in fact did have psoriasis, and the drug administered was not recognized, and did contain a drug akin to insulin. Eventually, Molly left him in the office, and found him the next morning in the morgue, showing something to Allen, who instead of annoyed, was looking quite smitten these days.

*******

“So, does Sherlock know?" Nyla asked. The year would be ending soon and the summer festival performances were shaping up. The solo performers knew their time spots.

  
“No! It’ll be a surprise! He has no idea. John knows. He’s alright with it. He says he has a surprise for us after. Harry and Meghan are coming to see me. They’ll come a couple of days before."

“Nervous much?" Nyla was one of her back up singers. Pepsi and Jackson would sing with her, too.

“Yes! Sherlock is not good with surprises. I’m scared he’ll freeze. Go into his Mind Palace. I invited Nana Hudson, to help with him if it goes belly up.”

Nyla made a face. “I think it’ll be fine. He’ll be happy. It’s you after all.”

********

Sherlock was decidedly in a strop. This case was prolonging itself, more people were disappearing, and Donovan would have no alternative but to close the case, due to lack of concrete evidence. Even with Harris and John looking out for any kind of clue, Sherlock simply wasn’t concentrated enough to make the connections. There had been other, interesting, urgent cases, he took care of.

Sherlock suspected the reason he couldn’t finalize the case was John. He found it increasingly difficult to remain concentrated on his cases, without his conductor of light. Even when they were at the height of discontent, John mere weeks away from moving out, Sherlock had known that no matter what, John would at least physically be home. Even during their bitterest arguments, Sherlock had taken comfort that he was there, that he hadn’t left. There had been something worth going on for. With him gone, his thoughts split between his ongoing cases, Watson, and broken up John. It was quite frustrating, and he didn’t see an end to the situation.

Therefore, he was surprised and quite happy to see Wiggins, coming in as if time hadn’t passed,

“Hey Sherlock, I wanted to show you this comparative I did. See in this paper, researchers from University were conducting translational research on autoimmune diseases. They were at the clinical trial, the earliest stages. I believe someone got cocky and is trying to introduce some of their very own experiment, on live subjects, of the homeless variety. So I got to thinking, what if they were just looking for sick people, cause they wanted a cover for what they were doing?’

Sherlock walked up to him, took the paper and they sat together in the library, consulting formulas and skyping with some friends of Wiggins, until Mrs. Hudson, curious due to the silence, walked up with the afternoon tea. She didn’t recognize Wiggins, until he spoke, then she screamed happily and hugged him. She had, after all, been witness to how hard the younger man had worked to leave his old life behind. She used Sherlock’s kitchen to prepare them dinner. 

They worked well into the early morning hours, Sherlock consulting an UCL professor, Dr Charles Emberton, whom he had helped by discovering a competitor's plagiarism of an article presenting novel options for the treatment of MDR tuberculosis the man had taken from Emberton. He had also facilitated Wiggins's entry to the Institute of Clinical Trials and Methodologies years ago. He was able to confirm that the man Sherlock had arrested, Shawn Peters, had not made the research team, due to failing test scores. They would look into it once things opened up, being the dark dead hours. 

Finally, Sherlock and Wiggins looked at each other. Wiggins smiled. “It’s been a long time Sherlock. Kept clean have you?”

“As have you. Look at us. All grown up.”

“I still don’t have a place to go. I won’t be going to the streets no more though. Sofa?”

“I can do you better now. Guest room.”

*******

7:00 am

Come to Baker Street immediately.

Don’t be mad. SH

John was toweling himself dry. Rosie still had to be given breakfast. He called Mike. He took Pepsi to school and didn’t have a problem coming over. Once he got there, John took a cab. From the street he heard Sherlock complaining about his tardiness and Mrs. Hudson came out, looking happy as the cat that ate the canary, looking at him excitedly. Then she called “Sherlock, he’s here!”

“We’re coming!” was the hurried answer, lest John think he could come upstairs. He, too, didn’t recognize Wiggins. He looked confusedly from Sherlock to him and back again, his hackles coming up, getting ready to leave in a huff. Why ever would Sherlock call him to flaunt a lover? Then Billy talked. 

“Dr. Watson, good to see you sir, good of you to come…” Sherlock elbowed him and he shook hands with John. They filled him in on the information they had gathered and the possible plan of action. They each took off in different directions to interview friends of the competition candidates, under the ruse of being from the papers.

*******

*Wiggins managed to talk to an old professor of his, Dave Sping and take a peek of the list of researchers, instead of having the whole research department taken over by Scotland Yard. An ICTM researcher could not have an operation like the one killing the veterans. The research team, which was conducting translational research on autoimmune diseases, had signed confidentiality contracts. 

Sherlock found a lady friend of Michael Garland, one of the researchers. He went to her job, and on her break, treated her to lunch, telling her that there was probably someone from the group involved in criminal activity. The girl, Nancy, opened up to Sherlock, about a fellow researcher of Michael’s, a talented young woman named Lauren Farris, who had actively flirted with him, to get his notes on the tests, copying them to add to her own. The woman had a side experiment, she believed the medicines in the trials could be used for many diseases more than the two that were being tried. She had been pushing the idea of manipulating the subjects’ immune system as necessary, working at a molecular level to eliminate proteins that caused healthy cell death. 

Sherlock and John proceeded to follow Farris. They had needed a couple of days, to be able to contact her. She was terrified. The situation had gotten completely out of her control. She agreed to talk, if they could assure her protection. Sherlock deduced the nature of her experiments, down to her failure to consider the gravity of the adverse effects of her attempts to regulate people’s immune systems, which could vary from fungal infections, like the intense one Bennes had contracted, to lymphomas. John conducted the interview, which they recorded, and reassured the frightened scientist that she would be protected by the authorities, in exchange for information about the foreign group sponsoring her. 

Farris, believed the medicines ICLA were using for their target diseases, scleroderma, rheumatoid arthritis, multiple sclerosis, lupus and autoimmune eye diseases, could also help with conditions such as psoriasis, pernicious anemia and celiac disease, if she adjusted the subjects’ immune systems. Lauren had continued her own personal research after being officially denied, and she had ultimately been let go of the research team and from the UCL for failure to obey authority. 

She had found a private sponsor, who had assembled a team for her. Lauren conducted human testing in an effort to produce a practical medicine before the UCL team did. She had sent her new “team” to bring her homeless veterans with her targeted diseases to go through clinical trials. The team had posed as medical students working for a local clinic, in order to gain the people’s trust.

Unfortunately for her, the desire to beat the UCL’s team, which she had been fired from, had led her to misrepresent the status of her experiment. In reality it was unstable, and she had decided to test it on the veterans, figuring they had good medical plans and could get help if things went wrong, but if she got it right, there would be money and the opportunity to shove her success in the UCL’s figurative face. Instead, the sponsor group took the veterans' trial administration off her hands, then ordered the team to make unsuccessful trial subjects disappear.

Now, with John gently guiding and encouraging her, she gave them the keys to her gym locker to retrieve a gym bag, where she hid a memory card with encoded information about her findings, and her plans.

Sherlock sent the recorded interviews to Donovan, who told him she would send Stewart to move the scientist to a secure location and retrieve the information, while she readied a team for action. Sherlock replied he was fine with it. Stewart arrived quickly and eagerly took over the memory stick and the scientist. Billy was happy, Sherlock was glowing. John was.... surprised.

“I’m starving! When did we last eat, Wiggins?” Sherlock looked exactly as John remembered post case, hunger included, John thought.

“Let’s see...that was 14 hours for me, but more for you, cause you just had orange juice and a wee bite. Hudders was mad with you.”

“John call ahead to a place will you? I have to call someone. Where do you want to go?”

“Sushi? What do you say, Wiggins?” John asked.

“Fine by me s’longs they have sake.” he smiled.

“The restaurant on James Street will still be open “

“Yeah, OK, I'll call ahead. See if they have a table.”

Sherlock held up four fingers making sure John saw. He made his call, then came back to get in the cab with them. 

******

While they were ordering drinks, Molly came in looking very pretty. She didn’t recognize Billy, whose eyes went soft. “Hello, Dr.Hooper” he said.

“Oh! Wigg...Bill! Good to see you looking so well!”

The evening went very well. They talked about the case, about Wiggins, who was indeed doing well, after a year of having broken up with a long term girlfriend, a lady some years older than him, who hadn’t been able to let go of an opportunity to teach the use of 3D copiers for planning difficult surgeries in South America. Bill had decided to stay, pursuing his promotion at Sanaf.

John had noticed Bill had a clean shaved face, had grown his hair a bit, and now used bespoke suits. His shirt fit him quite snuggly too. In all, he could understand why Molly was impressed, but he would always prefer the original. As the evening progressed, John scooted closer to Sherlock, making sure their legs touched.

Bill told Sherlock he had reserved a room at a hotel, and would take Molly for a drink at the bar.

*********

[Timmy T - One More Try](https://youtu.be/xPSeDqEZQ54)

Sherlock and John left a little later. They shared a taxi to Baker Street, where Rosie was asleep with Mrs. Hudson by now. Instead of asking if he could go up, John said, “Can we go to the local? After all that, I fancy a pint… no not really true. I’m just not ready to say goodnight to you.”

So Sherlock nodded, and they went. Some of the locals said hello to John, but didn’t stay to talk. They talked the case over, happy to have finally solved it. Sherlock predicting how Stewart would proceed to arrest the suspects. John talked about the veteran they had helped, how he was doing better, and had accepted to go into rehab. They continued talking once they left the pub, walking close together.

“Why did you hand the case over to Donovan? Are you alright?" John looked at him.

“Yes, fine. It’s just, tomorrow is a Watson day. I don’t want her to remember me, as I remember my mother. As I was growing up, nothing I did was important enough for her to take time away from work. No science exhibition, no research project, no musical concert. My parents never knew the extent of my social problems, or of my isolation. Mum didn’t really know me. I want Watson to feel differently. I want her to know she is important to me, and be confident that I know her.”

John didn’t say anything, just looked up at him, beaming. They got to 221B. 

“Well, Rosie is staying. No use waking her up, when tomorrow is your day anyway. Thanks for calling me, Sherlock and having me be a part of this.”

“Sure. Colleagues. Best friends.”

“Hmm… Dinner and drinks seem more like a date to me.” said John very lightly.

“Really? I wasn’t aware this was a date. Pity that, I would have dressed up.” said Sherlock, his smile threatening to widen.

“As you were, you out shined Wiggins, who seems to have learned from your modeling.” 

“Oh, I did see you observing him.”

“Only when Molly’s jaw dropped to the floor. Quite naughty of you to invite her and not tell her he was there.”

“She wouldn’t have come if I had. And you see, they hit it off.”

“Aha! So it was intentional! I didn’t know you were a matchmaker. Sneaky.”

“You should know I am purposeful in my actions, John Watson. I do what I mean to.”

“Well, I do too,” said John. He pushed Sherlock gently against the wall next to the door, pushed his body against his and pulled his head gently towards his face. John proceeded to purposefully kiss Sherlock, tenderly and thoroughly, while Sherlock first tensed, then relaxed into it. He responded to the kiss, his hands grabbing on to the lapels of John’s jacket. John could tell he was holding back. However, Sherlock was quite breathless when John broke gently away. 

Of course, now Sherlock wouldn’t meet his eyes. “That was… unexpected John. Mhm, not unwelcome though.”

John smiled. “If I weren’t full of surprises, you would be bored of me, right? Good night Sherlock. Sleep, alright? We’ll talk tomorrow. I had a good time. I think I’ll ask you out again.”

Sherlock only nodded, made an indistinct hand gesture and went inside. John wasn’t fooled. He was flustered and speechless because it had meant something.

******

Once inside, with no desire to stop by Mrs. Hudson to retrieve Watson, he went over what John had done. He had participated in the case. He had agreed to go to dinner. John had accepted Wiggin’s presence. Then he had suggested the local, because he “wasn’t ready to say goodnight”. John had talked as if he had been on a date, and he had ended it with a goodnight kiss. A good long kiss, that only served to remind Sherlock of all the other things he couldn’t indulge in. 

Once again, John had kissed him in public, where anyone could have seen them. This “date” had been very different than when they were first getting together, because they had never dated. They lived together, so there had been no middle ground. One day best friends, the next day, lovers, parents and full throttle forward. He gave the present situation much thought. Most probably a lark of John’s, brought along due to loneliness. Between girlfriends. As long as he remembered this, that the dates were temporary, and he kept it at light kissing, like a shy girlfriend, it could be acceptable. But that was all Sherlock was willing to give. Suddenly, angry? moisture came up to the edges of his eyes. John would never stay. He didn’t know how. And Sherlock didn’t want timid kisses and stupid dates that would lead them nowhere. He wanted everything. Everything or nothing at all. But when it came to John, he was weak. He was compromised by sentiment. His pressure point triggered. He would let John take what he wanted, until he inevitably wanted someone else. He couldn’t stop himself. Sherlock did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He took out his violin. 

At almost 6:00 am he felt a presence. “Are you alright, Sherlock?” Watson was rubbing her eyes and yawning. 

“No.” He said sternly, and heard her gasp. He was never stern with her. “Sorry Little Bee. I’m not alright at the moment. I need some more time to sort myself out. Please go back to Nana’s, get a couple more hours of sleep and help her with breakfast. I’ll be better by then.”

“Mmhn, ok…,” Rosie said, coming to him anyway to kiss him and put her small hand on his shoulder. “...sorry you are so confused.”

“Confused? I’m not confused!”

“Well, I know you. When you are happy you play nice songs, the classics, or modern music or your compositions. When you are sad, you play Samuel Barber, or Richard Strauss or that sad piece you composed yourself. But you tore the strings to shreds first, then went Requiem on us and then you went back to high energy music. Whatever is confusing you, it's probably easier than you think. Remember when you told me the maths test I was scared of would be easy, multiplication and division and I just had to read the problems carefully?”

Sherlock was frankly staring at her now. He nodded his head yes. She continued,

“...well you were right, and I read the problems and the maths were very simple. Look at whatever has twisted you up. Maybe the answer is simpler than you think. Just like you told me.” She gave him one more kiss and walked to the door. “Sherlock, don’t fight with the strings anymore. They wouldn’t last another round. And come downstairs for breakfast. I don’t want you alone.”

“Yes, Captain Watson.” said Sherlock quietly as she went down the stairs.

*****

About a week later, Sherlock got a text from John, not about work, or about Rosie.

\- Breakfast date? Day after tomorrow, cycling first. Will supply track bike and helmet. Then crepes.

\- ... *(No, I’m on a case now.) 

\- ... *(I’m not available for dates, John)

\- ... *(We should really limit our interactions to Watson, John)

\- You will bring the bicycles here? SH

\- Yep. 8:30 am. I’ll be at Baker Street

\- Are you sure this is what you want? SH

-Yes, Sherlock a date. Cycling through the park. Then crepes, with strawberries and cream. 8:30 because Mike picks Rosie up at 7:30 that day. 

\- Fine. We will cycle through the park. The helmet better be big enough to cover my head. I don’t have cycling clothes. SH

\- Use your boxing clothes, and trainers, it will be warm enough.

\- Fine. See you then. SH

Sherlock wondered:’What is this? Is it to pass time? Because he has nothing else on? Or is this the way you co-parent? Will he hold my hand? That’s preposterous, we’ll be on bikes. Will he want to kiss me goodbye again?’ 

When John came to 221B’s door he had maneuvered two used Fuji Sunrise Shimano bikes, two helmets and one backpack on the tube. His prize was to see Sherlock come downstairs in new, skin tight cycling clothes. Bottoms down to his knees, black with blue lining that matched the color of his eyes, a matching jacket and a white t-shirt. The black trainers were new, too. The git. John stared appreciatively. 

Sherlock inspected the bike. “Rental?”

“No, moving out present. My neighbors are moving to Canada. They’re leaving all non-essentials behind. The helmet is new.” Said John seeing some tension leave Sherlock’s expression at the news he wouldn’t have to wear a helmet that had belonged to someone else. To John’s surprise, Sherlock knew to check the gears, the breaks and the chain before he got on.

“During a mission before Serbia, I lived in Sydney for a while. Distances were long, and public transportation wasn’t available to all the places I needed to go. A bike was a necessity. I grew quite fond of mine.”

John took the lead, they headed to the park, went around it, through the green forest like parts, then he sped up and led Sherlock through the streets. He caught up to where they were going, a little park at the top of a hill, where they had once detained a suspect for Donovan to come arrest him. The race uphill was brutal, Sherlock was stronger in bursts, John had the endurance and that proved useful this time, leaving Sherlock behind.

Sherlock arrived, breathing harder than he would have liked, thinking he would have to work his lower body some more. John was cocky and full of himself from the win. “So, how does the posh boy feel when the army doctor can beat him up the hill, even being 5 years older than him?”

“The posh boy, as you say, feels quite well, having enjoyed the view provided by the army doctor…,” said Sherlock grinning. 

They stood against the rails, looking at the gardens below, flowers in bloom. Sherlock talked about bees and how those particular gardens had their own hives, what kind of honey they produced and as many inane details he could think of. John was looking at him, but not listening and it made him increasingly nervous. John put his hand on his back, moving it up and down his back. Good, but not good. He stopped talking. 

John was unfazed. He talked about bike routes he had rode on and how different it felt now from the time when he had cycled to work years ago. Before, it was an outlet for his anxiety, now it was revitalizing, an exercise, freedom.

So, you are enjoying your freedom, John?” said Sherlock. His attempts to understand his situation without rosy colored illusions were not giving him the results he wanted. “I still don’t understand where I…,” Sherlock sighed and turned around, facing a small church.

“I’m free from pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Sherlock, therapy has helped, but the most jarring experience for me has been missing you. That made me reconsider my actions and my reactions. I see you now, working on being a better father, on being healthier and you make me want to be those things too. I want to know more, to be able to do things in better ways and to know what you need of me. I want to deserve another chance with you.”

(The * show text responses that Sherlock thought he should answer John with, but didn't send)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some of the articles I based the case on:  
[Taking treatment for autoimune disease in a new direction](https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/32615.php)  
[Clinical Trials Msc/PG Dip/PD Cert|UCL Institute of Clinical Trials and Methodology - UCL- London's Global University. ](https://www.ucl.ac.uk/clinical-trials-and-methodology/education/msc)[Exploring New Treatments for Autoimmune Diseases](https://labblog.uofmhealth.org/labreport/exploring-new-treatments-for-autoimmune-diseases) If you are interested I also have copies of the articles. PM me at jobooksncoffee on tumblr.  
One of my favorite reunion stories, where we find out much of what Sherlock went through during his time away is the fantastic [ The Fabric of Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/384577/chapters/629638) written by Holyfant (though it is orphaned here) I have loosely based "my" Sherlock's "time away" experiences on the headcanons I have after reading and rereading that extraordinary story!  
As always, find the music at ["Will You Take Me Home?"](www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our men are busy! Building up trust and good feelings is work! They have dates, both with each other and with other people. John will get to meet a very important person that has made a difference in Sherlock's life. He will also witness first hand what it feels like when the man you love goes on a date with a woman. No worries, there will be a beautiful picnic day for the little family. Just know there will be feels! (and kisses!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To may Betas [Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) all my love and gratitude. Without you I would have shattered by now!  
Thank you, thank you, thank you! to my lovely readers! for sticking with this story, for giving me kudo love and for the lovely comments. As a reader I do try to comment on the stories I read. Never completely understood the significance of the comments. They are life sustaining. I'm grateful to you all!

Sherlock remained stock still. He took his time dissecting each sentence John had said. He tried to interpret the meanings of each one, adding the nuances of John’s tone of voice. He knew John deserved a response, and noticed when he finally turned around to face him.

“Thoughts? Please say something.” Soft John, patient and kind.

Sherlock had thought out a logical, measured response, but what he unexpectedly blurted out was: “Dr. Quentin wants to meet you.”

“Meet me?”

“Yes, John. Don’t repeat what I’ve said. I suspect he wants to know your intentions towards me…” he barked at John. Then, softening his tone, he added “...he wants to know how to best guide me, so as to effectively interact with you. About this and about raising... our little girl.”

John smiled: “So, do I mention you when I call for an appointment?”

“Just say your name. Dr. Quentin knows who you are.”

That provoked opposing feelings in John. For a short while Sherlock stood, looking at the flowers. He felt John come next to him and bump his arm with his. He also felt John’s pinkie finger touch his. They intertwined. They stood a minute in silence. “Crepes?” Sherlock asked, as John’s stomach rumbled.

“With Nutella and bananas for me!”

Sherlock abstained from the Nutella, and had his crepe with the strawberry and cream John had mentioned. They both enjoyed the delicious breakfast treats and the strong coffee. Sitting close at the restaurant’s quaint and air conditioned booths, John put his hands over Sherlock’s, who turned his around to let John hold it. They ate for a while in companionable silence then John remembered something.

“Oh! Next week is the school formal! I’d forgotten about it! It’s a dance the school throws for the parents! I kept meaning to ask you..”

“I already have a date, John. It was set before this…,” he said moving their joined hands a bit, but not letting go. 

“Oh. Who is the lucky guy?” John kept a soft smile on his face, thinking: it is what it is. 

“It’s a lady. Charlie, Nyla’s mom. She asked me that night she stayed over. Are you friends with Lizbeth?”

“No, not really. We’ve talked a bit during the girls’ playdates. Nothing personal, just talk about work, or the food Nyla misses from the states, nothing else. She is very private.”

“Good. I will be playing a part, but if you had told Lizbeth I’m gay, not bi, it wouldn’t work.”

“You want to make Lizbeth jealous.”

“I want to show her Charlie can also go on dates. Until recently, Lizbeth has been visiting Charlie for sexual interactions exclusively. Charlie still feels for her and ends up used and lonely. I thought I’d dress for the occasion, and make Charlie feel special.”

“Well, go ahead then. You care about Charlie.”

“In a way; we shared experiences that night the girls did their experiments. After that, we’ve texted, when Lizbeth has come over again, or when Charlie’s feeling down. On my days, sometimes we get together at the park and take the girls for ice cream afterwards, or they come over and we order pizza. It makes Watson happy.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a nice evening. I’ll likely ask Molly is she’s available. She hasn’t been lately. Doesn’t want to tell me if it’s some new bloke.”

“It is and you know him. We all had sushi.”

“No! Wiggins?!“

“Why not? I figured, Gavin is with Mycroft now, no chance there, so I thought up a likely candidate. Bill has been a clean responsible person for over 5 years now, why not?”

“You are full of surprises! Incredible, Sherlock just amazing! They hit it off, didn’t they?”

“I believe so, if we go by the number of times he has called me to say hello when he’s in London. Next weekend he has a convention, so the lady may be free.”

*******

[Gavin DeGraw - She Sets The City On Fire](https://youtu.ve/hT_STFPVaE4)

Bright and tastefully decorated, the school gym had been transformed into a ballroom. Rosie had stayed with Mrs Hudson, to have a playdate with Sofia, who lived at Mrs Turner’s. 

Molly had a new haircut and color, with a nice red suit that fit her well. John had on a gray suit with a blue shirt. They talked about the upcoming summer. Lizbeth came in with a man John recognized as her brother, as he frequently saw him picking Nyla up from school. 

Then, Sherlock came in, holding hands with Charlie and laughing with her. He had on a black suit, not his usual, the trousers were straight not slim. He had an olive green shirt on, not tight as was his usual. Well fitted. His hair perfectly in place, it was growing just a bit. Gorgeous. Then John looked at Charlie. She had a black form fitting dress, with green that matched Sherlock’s on the front and the back of it. High heel black shoes and a necklace with a teardrop emerald. They made a smashing couple. The way they looked at each other, John would have believed they were in fact a couple, as Sherlock only had eyes for her. John looked around to see Lizbeth with an astounded look on her face. Then he noticed Molly had one to match. He decided to let her suffer a little. 

Sherlock did a great job. They had obviously practiced dancing some songs, as the theme was “The Best of Today and Yesterday.” Even though Sherlock had told John it was a plan to make Lizbeth jealous, he still had had to work to accept the intimate way that Sherlock and Charlie danced “Perfect” because he loved that song and thought of Sherlock when he heard it, but tonight, he and Charlie looked so ‘right’ dancing it. It didn’t help that not once did Sherlock look over at him. 

********

This night was about Charlie. Sherlock had grown to know and appreciate her. She was away from her family. In a new country. Her wife had left her not a year into her new life. Now she had the troubles of an expatriate, and a single mom. She was having a hard time ending the relationship and giving herself value, since everytime Lizbeth wanted to have sex with her, Charlie would agree, but things never had any resolution or closure and Charlie ended up feeling more alone. She had only started saying no to her ex a month ago, and was afraid she had ended the last connection they had. Lizbeth had dated men, that much Charlie knew. 

Sherlock knew he was laying it on thick. They had practiced dancing some pieces Charlie knew would come up, since she had joined the committee. Now they looked like long term dance partners as the songs came up. Charlie’s smile was genuine as they twirled and stepped perfectly. When the music turned slow and romantic Sherlock topped it off by looking into Charlie’s eyes and singing along to “Perfect” as he gazed lovingly at her, held her tightly by the waist and dipped her, then rubbing his nose against hers. Charlie put her head on his shoulder for the next dance. 

They sat and Sherlock brought some drinks over, Margaritas with tiny umbrellas. He made sure they were in Lizbeth’s sight, though they didn’t acknowledge her once. Molly dragged John over to the table. She stared at Sherlock, who introduced the two women. Charlie hugged John hello. 

Conversation, drinks, John’s jokes, things went smoothly. Then Lizbeth moved to get a better view and Sherlock, who saw it, moved to join his forehead to Charlie’s and smiled lovingly. “She’s watching,” he whispered. Charlie looked into his eyes “Good!” She said and ran her hands through his hair. Sherlock gasped, closed his eyes, and smiled.

**********

A real gasp that went right to John’s gut. He did Not. Like. That. Woman. Touching. Sherlock’s. Hair. John felt it grumbling inside of him. Charlie, oblivious, went on and on, as she talked to him in a low voice, smiling. If they were alone, in a different place, Sherlock would be moaning by now… “Stop it!” John barked, voice low but clearly audible. Molly, who had been desperately talking about her teaching conferences, jumped a little. Charlie’s hands, lost in the git’s hair stopped.

John saw Sherlock glaring at him. The git took Charlie’s hand out of his hair, and kissed her fingers. Turned, nose in the air to face John.

“Problem?” Posh voice, commanding.

“Too far!” John answered. Same quiet, harsh tone.

“I am not here for this John. I’m here with my friend!”

“Your friend like Luther? How…” Molly raised her voice.

“Molly, do not comment on what is not your business!” Snapped Sherlock and got up, “Let’s go Charlie. Surely we can have a drink elsewhere without being judged.” He offered Charlie his arm and they left together. 

As they left, Charlie looked anxiously at Sherlock. 

“Sweetie, I didn’t mean to make John feel bad. I wanted to do something so Betts could feel what I do! I was thinking about kissing you, but I didn’t cause John was there looking at us. Didn’t know he would mind about your hair.”

“Funny thing about exes I suppose. They don’t want us, but they don’t want anyone else to have us either.”

“But you and John are trying again, right? Besides, I’m a woman!”

“I guess jealousy knows no boundaries. ‘Trying again’ seems much too ambitious for what John and I… are doing? ‘It’s Complicated’ is an accurate description.” At that, Charlie gave him a heartfelt hug, before going into her friend’s flat for the night. 

**********

Later that night…

-Sherlock, I wanted to say sorry for tonight. I snapped. Sorry.

-Don’t repeat yourself John, it’s tedious. SH

-I saw her all over you and lost it. Sorry if I ruined your plans.

-Our plans were actually aided by that little scene. Lizbeth thought I took the opportunity to tell you about our budding relationship and that you reacted badly. You were brilliant, even while overdoing it. SH

-Charlie’s phone was bursting 5 minutes after we left. She went to a friend from the hospital. She did not trust herself to say no to her ex. SH

-Happy to have helped, then.

-You were actually jealous? Of Charlie? Really John. SH

-Obviously. Don’t be tedious Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled. Charlie’s action had been unexpected. No one, other than John, and Mrs. Hudson touched Sherlock’s hair; his scalp was extraordinarily sensitive, and it had been so long, the gasp had been genuine. Immediately after, he thought that John might feel possessive over it, but dismissed the thought, given the current… situation and the fair warning. However, he couldn’t deny to himself that he had been pleased with John’s jealousy. He thought of these things as he played his violin.

*******

John sat in an unassuming waiting room, as nervous as he had been when waiting for Rosie to be born, without the happy excitement. When his name was called, he stood up, took a deep breath and went in. At first, for an instant, he thought he had stepped into 221B. Immediately he saw the differences and also why Sherlock had been able to tolerate the therapy. He went inside and saw the doctor’s collections. Sherlock would have liked the old alchemy and chemistry formulas, Rosie the insects. He definitely liked the airplane blueprints.

“Good afternoon, Captain Watson,” said a voice, authoritative but pleasant. John startled, taken by surprise. 

“Dr. Quentin…,” he approached him, “...a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Quite an interesting collection you have.”

“Good icebreakers. Even my most reluctant patients usually find something to comment on. What were your first impressions of them?” Dr Quentin asked amicably.

“That Sherlock must have loved the Alchemy notes.”

Dr. Q smiled. “He asked you to make this appointment?”

John laughed. “He told me you wanted to meet me so you could better guide him on how to interact efficiently so we could better co-parent Rosie.”

“When did this come up?”

“During our breakfast date. He was very hesitant about going out with me at all, without Rosie. The way he said it and his reaction to my instant agreement, made me feel I should come sooner, rather than later. He said you had forms for me, to devise how to guide him to best co-parent?” John was happy to find his voice steady

“That is the smaller part of it, truthfully. Dr. Watson, you are a very important person in Sherlock’s life. I feel knowing you a bit will help me tailor my advice for him better.” Dr. Q. confessed

John’s guard went up, “Is this where you judge whether I am worthy of him or not?” He had adopted a military stance and his fist was clenched, “...because I assure you I have been working to improve the issues that led to our separation.”

“Oh no, please that is not my call to make, Doctor. I do want to know what kind of relationship you see possible with Sherlock. I don’t need details, but I would like to be able to help him sort out some… insecurities he has about your relationship, as it seems to have undergone more than one transformation in the space of last year.” he explained.

“I’m John, Dr. Quentin. I know you can’t comment on what Sherlock has told you or not, but I was the one who left. I did many things then, that I have come to regret. I am in therapy, working to better my responses to emotions, my problem solving and my communication skills. I felt it was long overdue, and I owed it to myself, to Sherlock and to Rosie.” John confessed

“Always happy to hear that people work towards being a better version of themselves. You say you feel part of your motivation is Sherlock and Rosie. How do you see them?”

John’s voice trembled. “They are my family. The family I want and love. They are father and daughter.” 

“I must confess I am thrilled to hear that, John. Sherlock is very invested in Rosamund’s upbringing. She is one of the main reasons for him to make the decision to seek therapy.”

“I know he doesn’t trust my resolution to be in his life again. I destroyed that chance when I left. Dr. Quentin, I have only recently taken a good, hard look into our relationship to discover how many things could have been done differently. I should have begun our relationship looking for support from someone like you. Knowing more about ASD and the SDS would have helped with understanding Sherlock’s reactions. I’ve read many books about it, but they tend to talk about clinical cases and children or young people, not adult, genius fathers and partners, with a touch of PTSD to boot.” John said.

“I can certainly recommend you to one of my colleagues. Consulting them can only benefit you. Not that Sherlock will fit into a definition or a set parameter of behaviours, but understanding some of how he perceives the world may allow you to tailor the way you communicate with him to make it more productive. Especially if you want a continued relationship with him, be it co-parenting, friendship…”

“Everything, anything doctor. I want to be back in Sherlock’s life in every possible way he wants me to be in it. I will accept anything he wants to give me. I’ve seen what it’s like to be without him and that’s not what I want. It’s him and no one else. I’m here to stay.” John's voice wasn't free of emotion.

“I would like you to fill in these forms, John. And since it is possible you will see Sherlock before you see my colleague, I will give you some advice. When you talk about a future with him that you want to happen, define it for him in no uncertain terms. If you tell him “whatever you want” you are not giving him any point of reference. If you tell him “I want a loving, committed relationship, being exclusive with one another, dating or living together", you give him something clear for him to accept, reject and choose. It is much easier for you to put your emotions and desires into words than it is for him, especially if you are already on a date, or any situation where emotions are engaged. It will be more productive that you supply the words, be as concrete as possible and allow him plenty of time to form his responses.”

John found he truly liked this doctor. No wonder he saw changes in Sherlock.

*******

Rosie had been waiting very impatiently for Pepsi. She hadn’t wanted to say anything to her on the phone, she was coming anyway, so where was she? Nyla was away, on a three day holiday with her mother and their family, so she couldn’t show her. She needed Pepsi for this, anyway. Finally! There she was! Rosie ran to her, stopping only to politely greet Dr. and Mrs. Stamford, then pulled Pepsi away, as Mel met with her friends. 

“What Rose? What’s up?” Pepsi gasped, not used to running while being pulled.

“I want you to look at something! I need you to tell me what it looks like.” Rosie was practically bursting with excitement.

They got to a place behind some bushes. “Stay still so they don’t see us,” she whispered.

“Rosie Watson, what kind of animals are you going to show me?” Pepsi had learned to be wary of her. Rosie loved to be in close proximity to squirrels, possums, racoons, beavers, ravens, dead or alive.

“No, shut up, just forget who they are and tell me what it looks like!” Rosie pointed through the bushes and looked up at Pepsi expectantly, hope firing in her eyes.

Pepsi looked, still hesitating. She saw Rosie’s dads. Wait, Ro had said forget who they were. Fine. She would look at them, really observe them, like The Rose was always trying to teach her to. The settings of a picnic; a spread, a basket, two drinks poured out, strawberries in a bowl. One blond man, laying across the blanket, head resting on his hand, seemed to be talking. He looked comfortable, smiling in “dad” shorts, boater shoes, and a soft short sleeved checkered shirt. He was looking up to another man, sitting up against a tree, hugging his legs. This man was wearing thin, gray trousers and a light blue chambray shirt. The man was laughing hard. Then he answered the first man, and the smile never left his eyes. Happy. They both looked happy.

“They look like two people on a good date,” was Pepsi’s verdict.

Rosie grabbed her hand again and ran off with her a good distance. When they had gone far enough, she gave a happy scream, jumped up and down with Pepsi and then hugged her tight. “Please, please say this will work, oh sage one,” said Rosie.

Pepsi, girl of quiet, certain knowledge and big tender heart, said, “They were both looking at each other, with big happy smiles and they were laughing. It looks like they want it to,” which made Rosie hug her again.

*****

The invitation had been this:

-Hey, remember I mentioned dates? I would like to ask for the pleasure of your company this upcoming Saturday, from 11:00 to 5:00, or until Rosie gets tired. It’s the class pic-nic.

-Very well, Rosie had asked me to go anyway, it being a me day after all. SH

-True, I would pick the two of you up, and later leave you back home, we could end the day with pizza or fish and chips as a family.

-Sounds amenable, you would pick us up at 11:00? SH

-I will pick you up at 10:00, want to scout out a good spot. It will be fairly secluded. It’s a family day, but make no mistake, it will be our date. I will pack a basket with some of your favorite things and some alcoholic beverages to toast with. I plan to spend time with you, talk with you, walk around with you and steal some kisses. You have been warned.

(10 minutes later)

**… … **

**…**

-We are going ahead with this dating thing, then? SH

John read the text. He shook off his slight disappointment. He couldn’t know Sherlock’s tone through text. John could not be sure if he was being ironic or dismissive, or if he truthfully was not sure. 

-It’s what I want. To get closer to you, emotionally and physically. Get to know each other again, and better. You are under no obligation, at any time, if you prefer not to date me. I would like to give it a try.

-I would like that too, John. Only, I need to take this slow. I need to ensure we know what we are doing. SH.

-Looking forward to seeing you then. Don’t worry, you will set the pace. Don’t you always?

[Train - Play That Song](https://youtu.be/gPc5-bBA9UI)

  
So here they were, on this warm, sunny day (hot really) comfortably settled close to the lake, away from the activity zone, which was the center of the picnic. The school had made food available, hot dogs, hoagies, crisps, ribs, some kind of pasta salad, and all kinds of colored and carbonated drinks. Rosie had stuck to Pepsi as soon as the Stamfords arrived, and had made it clear she intended to eat from the school fare, and not whatever John had packed. 

They had been with the children, watching Rosie and Pepsi beat Mark and Jackson in the potato sack race, and then be beaten by girls from the other class in an obstacle race. They had said hello to other parents they knew, Mike and Linda included. Linda had offered to keep an eye on Rosie “if you two want to take a stroll.”

Said “stroll” would have been pleasant if he had been alone, plenty of plant and bird specimens to observe, the lake had some interesting algae. It was great, though, because he was with John, and the doctor was listening riveted to the case that had taken him out of town. Sherlock told John he had taken it just for the money, as in reality, it wasn’t even a two, but the client was so bereft, and the case had been easily solved. 

The client was a barrister that had just finished a complicated property dispute. Bachelor, high end flat, no close relatives. Had a beautiful french boxer, his since the pup had been six weeks, now three years old, Chloe. The dog had apparently disappeared from his closed flat. Instead of Chloe greeting him, he had found her leash, on the coat hanger, some international snack foods that he used to prefer on his dining table and a bottle of his favorite wine. The other things taken had been a picture album and an antique edition of “One Hundred Years of Solicitude” in its original Spanish, with the author’s signature, also missing, a leather bracelet Raul’s mom had made for him when he visited her in Argentina. He considered it his good luck charm, and had left it behind only by accident.

Sherlock had known immediately who took the dog, and the other things, though the client had been sincerely surprised.

“How long since you broke up with your partner?” He'd asked

“What? How do you? Going on two years. He moved to Cardiff. He’s a radio artist there. His show is really informative and entertaining. So I’ve been told.” Raul answered, flustered.

“When will the anniversary of the separation be?”

“Next Saturday, why?”

“Did your ex partner give you the book?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes…”

“Did the album hold pictures of the two of you?”

“Yes it did…” 

“Did he know about your good luck charm?” Sherlock asked as he touched the things that had been left.

“Yes, what are you on about? Why would Derek take Chloe? He could have visited her at any time. He never did because he doesn’t want to see her or me! He knows Chloe is my baby! What she means to me!”

“Raul, where did you take your last holiday together?”

“Umm… in Brighton, I had just started working, we didn’t have a lot of money.” Raul answered.

"Do you remember where exactly?”

So Raul had taken Sherlock to where they had spent their holidays. Sure enough, a ring on the bell and Derek opened the door. In his pants. Chloe jumping up in excitement next to him. He had screamed, “No!! I’m not ready!! I’m not ready!!” Then shut the door on Raul’s face. The anniversary was the next day and Derek's plan had been to call Raul and tell him to come pick up Chloe and ask to take him back as well. John had laughed as Sherlock recreated the little dance Derek had done, as he put his hands in front of his privates and screamed. 

After he shut the door on them, Raul said. “The fool never learned to cover his bits properly.” 

Sherlock had answered, “Could use a robe.” 

“I gave him a nice one and the git always leaves it on the bed.”

The men had met properly that evening, all bits covered, at least for dinner. Sherlock had spent the night in a room with a beautiful ocean view. The next day, he received a generous check from the barrister. The couple had made up, the lost pup and items recovered. Derek decided to accept a proposal from a radio station in London, Raul promised to keep appropriate work hours, having missed each other badly enough. 

John had been a captive audience, literally, as he never let go of Sherlock’s hand. It had stayed intertwined even when they met Gianna, who was walking doing rounds with the new school nurse, a young man. John had peppered the recount of the case with his dear old praise, and he looked at Sherlock with that old affection. They stopped at the edge of the lake, under some shady trees. 

John made pebbles skip the surface of the water, as he said, “One of my favorite possessions, as a kid, was a library book I stole. It was about kittens, and how they were born. I stole it because the prettiest girl in the school, an eight year student that volunteered in our 4th year class during English classes, had taken it out before. Her name was signed on the library card. Then I just fell in love with the pictures of the kittens being born, and the care the owners had to take of them. I also had an old teddy bear, a lovey that my grandma made for me, when I was little. There was also a little stone turtle I carved, I thought it was my good luck charm.”

“I had a hidden copy of ‘Treasure Island’. Mummy would have taken it away, calling it irrelevant, which is what she used to think of all fiction. I didn’t have any soft toys, other than Bee, that was taken away when I was two. Mummy put it in a memory box, from where I stole it for Watson. I had a blue blanket, she was always taking away. Daddy usually gave it back to me. I believe he ultimately put it in a box somewhere. I never had a carved figure, but I do have good luck charms…,” As soon as he said the last bit, he looked like he regretted it.

“What is it, Sherlock? Say… A bracelet some boy gave you? Or a girl after all?”

“No, Nobody gave them to me, their owner just left them behind, discarded.” Sherlock was looking down.

“Tell me, come on, I told you mine,” said John, small smile tugging at his mouth.

Sherlock sighed, put his hand in his pocket, and took out two very familiar objects, John hadn’t thought about in years.

“Are those… my dogtags?”

“No. You left them in your old room, when you moved out of Baker Street to live with... They are mine now. I will fight you for them, John,” he said, some color in his face, but looking determined.

Left behind. Discarded. To get married, to anyone but him, to selfishly have a major sulk. Never again. John raised his chin, made his hands into loose fists, and half marched towards Sherlock, who squared himself, somewhat surprised. Then John cornered Sherlock between two trees, and made good on his promise of stealing some kisses. Sherlock seemed startled, as if he had been expecting John to actually fight him. Instead, he had reached for his neck and pulled his head towards his. Sherlock’s lips were dry. He moved back immediately. “John, people can see us, we barely have any cover here.”

“I find I actually care more about kissing you, than what people may or may not see.”

For Sherlock, it was almost like coming home, after having been in the darkness and the cold, and turning on all the lights, finding your flat nice and warm. John had asked him out. He had told him to expect kisses, not just one. They were out in public and Three Continents Watson did not care about being seen kissing the likes of him. John had spoken kindly, his eyes had been appreciative, his hands were so gentle on his neck and his face. John was looking at him admiringly, so much his John that, although Sherlock tried to stay in control, tried to hold back, he could only think of how good they were together. As John held his face and licked his lips apart, he heard himself groan. John sucked on his lower lip, and Sherlock couldn’t help tightening the embrace. The long awaited, excellent snogging, did nothing to sate Sherlock’s appetites, on the contrary, but oh, wasn’t it so much better than dreaming.

The couple was oblivious of anyone else in passing distance. Fortunately, they were quite protected by the trees and it was only fate that allowed Mike Stamford to get an eyeful as he and his wife, who chatted along, oblivious to the men, walked off the big lunch he had. Back at the activity center, the girls took turns riding and lassoing ponies with their teachers and classmates. Mike did not tell a soul; not even his wife, but did have a big smile on the rest of the day.

********

After the pizza, after tea at Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock had said goodbye to John at the door. No more kisses. He couldn’t help smiling though, and Mrs. Hudson gave him an unintelligible look. He would have to talk with her, but he really couldn’t bring himself to tonight. He knew she would have to say some cautionary words, and while he expected them, and maybe even needed them, he didn’t have the heart to hear them today. He just wanted to go over and over this afternoon, the best one in a long time.

The excellent date at the picnic did not influence John’s previously made decision. He had already set the wheels turning for it a while back, when Sherlock would barely give him the time of day. The kisses had been spectacular, had reminded John of how joyful and exciting and sensual they were together in their intimacy. None of that, (or the fact that he was getting hard just by remembering it) had anything to do with this issue. It stood on it’s own. It was overdue. This was the best for him and Rosie. He just hoped Sherlock would understand. John made the call.

“Well, Mycroft, thank you so much for calling back.”

“Never good policy to ignore doctor’s calls, Dr.Watson.” Mycroft answered shortly.

“Were you able to carry out what I asked you for?”

“Of course I was. I can present you with the forms, though the deal is done, only pending signatures.”

“Mycroft, I must say I’m thankful for your help. I wouldn’t have known how to do it without your guidance.”

“It’s Gregory you should thank. He also believes this situation requires closure. To be quite honest, John, a month ago I wouldn’t have moved a finger for you, after what you did to my brother. The girl, however, deserves every opportunity life presents her with. This will be the best for you both. I’m uncertain as to this being the best for Sherlock, no doubt he will have a harsh period of adjustment.”

“Thanks for considering my daughter. Sherlock will survive, He’s a strong man. It’s not the first time I’ve done something about Rosie that pulls the rug out from under his feet.” John’s voice was as icy’s as Mycroft’s.

“Call me when you do the deed doctor. Until I hear differently, I will be on standby to pick up the pieces you leave of my brother.” Mycroft hung up the phone

John rolled his eyes in perfect imitation of Sherlock. He went back to thinking about Sherlock. He hoped he didn’t react as badly as Mycroft seemed to think. Then his mind unerringly went back to the kisses. They had been pretty fantastic, and John had gotten to cop quite a few feels. God, he wanted the git. Sherlock though had been the one to eventually push him away, and walk along the river for a while, not touching each other, to… calm down. He had retreated some, after that. They had rejoined the children and later had pizza with a very happy Rosie, who had retold each of her adventures to them. When John said good night to Sherlock, he got a touch on the arm, no kisses. It was alright. He had meant it when he said Sherlock could set the pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love it and have just finished rereading it, yet again, this week's fic is [ Safe Distance by merripestin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/684459)  
Soundtrack at [ Will You Take Me Home?](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes advantage of a Rosie free morning to surprise Sherlock...who has plans. Boxing instead of cycling does not work out, but does clear the air a bit. As does the conversation John has with Mrs Hudson. She did get a chance to see John's art work for the first time. Mycroft and Sherlock have a conversation that goes quite well for a change. Maybe due to the cake. The Watsons are in town! Harry and Meghan have come for Rosie's End Of Year Show! The dinner may have been a bust, but Sherlock knows a side of Harry that few others do. Ginger beer and cigarettes help Consulting Detectives open up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Betas are the greatest people [Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) Both are talented authors and artists and busy with their own lives. I am lucky they always seem to have time for me.  
Also I am so thankful to my dear readers! Thanks for continuing with this story, and for leaving kudos! To the constant commentors (commentators) please know that you have lifted my spirits and inspired me to continue writing, also checking and making sure I have done these characters justice! Your opinions and suggestions are valued and your kind words, treasured. Thank you all!!

[ Imagine Dragons - Next To Me ](https://youtu.be/-C_rvt0SwLE)

Rosie had a field trip today. They were visiting the Museum of Mathematics, an exhibition at the Science Museum, in South Kensington. Since Linda Stamford was going with the group, the girls had begged him to let her have a sleepover. It was so close to the end of the year, anyway. So this morning, John woke up at his regular time, at odd ends. As he had a cuppa, he decided to surprise Sherlock, with a ride. He took the tube, the bicycles being safely kept at 221C. He got there just in time to see Sherlock closing the door behind him. 

“Good morning! “ He greeted.

Sherlock turned around and looked surprised to see him, “John?”

“Our young lady had a sleepover. I thought I could interest you in a ride, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards.” He smiled.

“Well, my planner said bills, laundry, now boxing, then shower. A day of following some leads for a case Harris is having difficulties with. I have to say, John, Donovan is so much smarter! The amount of help Harris requires from me quite frankly makes me fear for the people that depend on him solving cases! Anyway, after that, I have therapy in the afternoon, and in the evening possibly some dull thing, such as “So You Think You Can Dance.“ with Mrs. Hudson at hers.”

John considered the life Sherlock was describing. Granted it was similar to his own. Sherlock should be going out, having fun, not depending on Mrs. Hudson for company. Then he remembered Luther. He also knew that Harris was no idiot. He called often to spend time with Sherlock. John had to focus.

“Can I come with? I have my running shorts and trainers. We can catch breakfast later and I can, I don’t know, help with the case? Make calls? What do you say?”

Sherlock was smiling already at his enthusiasm. “Sure, I can always use an assistant.”

*********

Now here he was, unable to breathe, eyes filling up on the edge of a panic attack. Not good. He could see Sherlock talking to him, gloves on, concerned. He could see the blood running down his nose, the split lip the blood filled eye….

********

Not good, not good, what had happened? John had been smiling, happy when he wrapped his hands and they practiced with the teardrop bags. He had been laughing while the trainer talked about Sherlock’s mixed martial arts sneak attacks. Now, when they were in the ring for sparing, he looked about to faint. When Sherlock approached him, John’s eyes were unfocused, scaring him badly, but he came to, pale and unsteady. Sherlock took him off the ring, got water and they sat down. John was looking at his face. It clicked. That had been so long ago. 

“John…”

“I am never going to hit you again, Sherlock. Ever. I thought we were each having a sparring mate. I can’t with you, just...please, no.” John begged

“Fine, John, it’s alright. It’s over. You realize the incident that you are so clearly recalling happened over eight years ago? Can I spar with Art? I want you to see I’m not a wilting flower, and that there is no way you could beat me up now, old man.” This said with a sardonic grin.

John nodded, still upset. Sherlock and his trainer, Art, gave him a good show. John could tell Sherlock had made the best of his training, he had a powerful punch and a knack for connecting the hits effectively. He was great at defense, even applying what Art had said, illegal mixed martial art moves. Never one for following the rules, his Sherlock. After the sparring match John did feel better. He punched a full body bag, while Sherlock kicked at a banana one. 

********

They brought some scones over to Mrs. Hudson’s, where Sherlock decided to work with John. As she didn’t say a word about it, John believed he did this occasionally, especially since Sherlock seemed to have all the case info at her computer desk. At noon, Sherlock got up. 

“John, I have a luncheon with a contact I suspect knows more than what she told police. Then I have to go to Harris, and later to Dr. Quentin. I would like you to come with, but...the suspect is under the impression that I’m...flirting with her, and after that it will be close to the time to pick up Watson anyway….”

“It’s fine, Sherlock, go ahead. I have shopping to do, and a full caseload tomorrow. I’ll text you. You can text me, too, alright?” John said.

As a response, Sherlock smiled, kissed Mrs. Hudson and was off upstairs, to change for his date. John picked up the mess of papers, and looked for a place to put the files.

“I’ll take them back upstairs later, John.” Mrs.Hudson said.

“Back upstairs?’

“Yes, he texted me to bring them down, because you were coming with.”

John wondered again, why the obstination of not allowing him upstairs. Mrs. Hudson interrupted his thoughts.

“John. I love you. You are one of my boys. Really. But I have to say this. I can’t presume to know your purpose for all this, this, dating? Working with him again, taking him out, pushing yourself back into his life. Do not play games, John. I beg you. You do not know what this is doing to him, the uncertainty. You have no idea how low he fell when you took Rosie away that weekend after the fight, or how hard he has had to work to rebuild himself. John, if you are not sure, if there is any chance you are doing this only because you are in between girlfriends or until you find a future wife, or because it's Sherlock and he’s available to you, then stop it now, while he still has a chance to survive it. Please sweetheart. I loved to see the two of you together, I hoped for it from the day I met you. But not at the cost it has for him when you leave him. You have done it to him three times already. Please understand, sometimes it’s best to just let the person go..”

Hearing that from Mrs. Hudson, their eternal supporter and never housekeeper, was just too much. He felt panic rising. It was hard to catch his breath and he had to sit down, head hanging down towards the floor. At some point, Sherlock must have left the building. What felt like an eternity later, he felt her hand on his shoulder. She put a cup of tea down on the table and sat on the sofa next to him, handing him some tissues. He was surprised to see he needed them. His eyes seemed to be leaking.

“I never meant to separate Rosie from him. Never. I wasn’t ever really thinking of marrying a woman again, Mrs. Hudson. I did date, I’m not going to lie. I was angry in those first months. At the end, before I left, he was always working, never available, incredibly rude and told me to do whatever I wanted when I first told him I was leaving. I was hurt, and mad, but I never meant to take Rosie away. Once we came back from that weekend and Sherlock cut all communication with me I started to realize I hadn’t thought through what ‘breaking up’ meant. When I found out about Luther….I thought everything was lost. But I was determined to be his friend again, at the very least. I worked on myself, Mrs. H. I finally did what the therapist asked me to. I’m going to anger management sessions every month, therapy every week and I’ve been to a doctor specializing in neurodivergent adults that Sherlock’s doctor recommended. I’m exercising, and I’ve been sober. I understand that he doubts me, that you doubt me and Mycroft does too, but this is it for me. I will be with him, as long as he wants me to, and however he wants me, Mrs. H. I really don’t know how else to explain myself.”

“Thank you John. I know I really have no right to say what I did to you. But I love both of my boys, and I can’t bear to see you tear each other apart. Believe me, when you were still living here, it was Sherlock I meddled with, for all the good that did. Now go wash up, in a while you will have to pick Rosie up from school. Let’s have a bite.”

John got up, took her face in his hands, kissed her cheek and hugged her. “I need you to come to the school Summer concert this Saturday, Mrs Hudson. Rosie will perform her solo. It’s a surprise for Sherlock, and things will probably be emotional, hopefully in a good way. Oh, while I wash up, take a look. I’ve been drawing these.” He handed her his phone.

When he came back, she hugged him. “Child you have such talent!! Why have you been hiding this?” He had added little sketches of Sherlock on the bicycle, Molly, Billy, and them at the sushi restaurant, Rosie, handing a bowl of strawberries to Sherlock, she with a knowing look, he with a guilty one; the wording to that one said “When was the last time you ate, Sherlock?” There was a full page colored sketch of Sherlock and Charlie, dancing, Sherlock looking stunning, Charlie beautiful with a happy smile. One of Rosie and Pepsi, arms around each other and covered in mud, laughing after losing a race during the picnic. The last one was of Sherlock, during the picnic, sitting on the blanket, against a tree, with his arms around his legs, looking up at some bees with a dreamy expression and a small smile. 

“I want you to make me one of the two of you, and I want both to be happy, John.”

“It’s coming, Mrs. Hudson. I promise you.”

********

Mycroft had given Sherlock a couple of cases, boring, but with high level clients. One of the diplomats required information on his wife’s lover, whom seemed to be growing her bank accounts. The Diplomat wanted to make sure that his family’s estate and jewelry were not being compromised, and if so, he wanted his belongings back. Sherlock had entertained the hope the “lover” may be Adler, but of course, it wasn’t. The other case was a suspicion of espionage, even less interesting and easily solved. The money was good though, and Rosie needed to have a nest egg. Sherlock had gotten the information, and now went in the cafe, where Mycroft awaited, two slices of cake and two cups of tea 

Sherlock had a question he wanted a sincere answer for, so he decided not to tease for today. Instead;

“How is the wedding coming along?”

Mycroft sipped some tea. “Well, as expected. We are simply no good at this, brother. It’s a fortunate thing Anthea and mummy have thrown themselves into it. We have...a wedding planner…”

This last said with such disdain Sherlock felt bad for the man.

“Well, that’s what you get when you are all in a hurry, brother dearest.”

“I don’t feel like leaving Gregory behind, while I’m in some far away country negotiating peace truces with the neighboring countries. I will be away an undetermined amount of time. To come with me, Gregory must be my spouse. By the way, which one for the wedding?”

Sherlock tasted Mycroft’s cake, which was an almond caramel cake, very good. Then he tasted the slice in front of him. Surprisingly exquisite. “Chocolate and whisky?” He asked. “This one.”

“I thought so, Gregory also picked it. Thank you for the cases brother, I’m happy you are up to your usual speed.”

“Yes. Mycroft...if I may share a personal issue that is quite confounding; In light of your recent engagement and eventual marriage, I guess your knowledge will have to suffice. John has been acting as if he wants us to be a couple again. I don’t know what is best. I confess that in this matter my mind is lacking it’s usual keenness. He left, so if he didn’t want me anymore, if he knows I’m not good enough…” Mycroft winced at that “...why would he want to have me back?”

“Sherlock, you are more than ‘good enough’. I can think of a myriad of reasons John Watson would cherish the opportunity to rekindle what he has lost. Brother, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, give him the opportunity to back his words up with actions. Perhaps Dr Watson realized leaving was a lapse of judgement. He might even understand words alone will not fix the rift between you. Maybe if he shows you what you mean to him, instead of saying it, you will know what you should do.”

“Mycroft, that was...quite supportive. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t get too used to it. Most likely wedding jitters.” Mycroft said, but he had the faintest smile.

“Will you come next Saturday? It’ll be Watson's summer concert and she leads the song for her class.”

“I received a hand drawn, handwritten invitation, two months ago by mail…” he sighed “I had a summit to attend to, but I wouldn’t miss Rosalie’s debut for the world. I will also like to see you enjoy it, little brother. Oh, Sherlock, speaking of occasions, will you do me the honor of being my best man?”

Sherlock looked at his brother. Constant pain in the arse. Meddler extraordinaire. Fierce protector, loving uncle to a girl that wasn’t even his. “Gladly, Mycroft. I look forward to seeing you happy at your wedding.”

Sherlock had to admit this had been one of the better meetings he had ever had with his brother as adults. Gavin must be rubbing off on him. Then a thought. How did Mycroft know Rosie dreamed of changing her name to ‘Rosalie’? Oh, of course, they were friends.

********

John was at the clinic finishing up with a patient who had broken a toe and fractured her foot by dropping a hammer on it, when her husband had come home and greeted her loudly. “He startled me and I dropped the bloody mallet! I was an idiot to drop it! I’m so pissed off! I had a month to go in my job! I’m a school teacher. I’m up for summer school too, now I’ll have to tell them I can’t. Are you certain it’s broken? Can’t I just ice it?” Her eyes said they knew the truth.” John saw Sherlock, his poor badly healed foot. 

“Not only am I certain it is broken, it’s broken in three places. It’s hard to see this fracture here…” he showed her on the x-ray “...on the cuneiform bone. It appears to have slid out of place. You’ll need an MRI to see it clearly. The fracture on the phalange is simple, were it the only issue, a cast and six weeks of rest would be enough, but here…” John looked at the husband, who was grey with anguish, and the teacher, who looked incredulous. “...the metatarsal has not only broken, but shattered. You will need an operation to remake the bone and prevent future deformation. Sorry, it will be a whole season before you can go back to work. Depending on your surgeon and your commitment to healing, you might be able to start your class next year. Till then, it’ll be bed rest, foot up for a month at least, then walking with crutches from 6-8 weeks.” 

She burst into tears “This is so bloody stupid. I’m going to work to help save up for our house! We had a budget planned out, and because I’m an idiot, now you have to do it all by yourself!” She cried into her husband’s belly. “There, don’t fret you! It was my fault for coming in all clumsy like and scaring you! You should be angry at me! Don’t worry now, we’ll get the house. Just a little later than planned, huh? We got to get this sorted out and I’ll take a little time from work after your operation. Don’t get yourself in a state, love, I’m here for ya, I got you.”

John left them there, after calling in the podiatrist for them. He had been impressed by their interactions. Not that he doubted Sherlock and he could be just as loving and considerate, but the verbal communication was missing. The wife had expressed in a couple of minutes what the two men would have needed months to say. The husband had reassured her by verbally liberating her from guilt, letting her know he would be there for her, that he did not care about the money not made, but about her. John would feel the same about Sherlock, not caring about anything else, but saying it was a different manner. He couldn’t help himself. He took out his phone.

********

Sherlock was with D.I. Harris at a crime scene, comparing different shoe prints related to a series of neighborhood “accidents” in a well off neighborhood when his phone rang. John. He always texted. He stepped aside to answer.

“John, is Watson alright? Should I go get her?”

“No, she’s fine. It’s not that. Are you working?” John sounded insecure, as if he were embarrassed.

“Yes. I’m with Harris at a crime scene. What is it?”

He didn’t sound bothered, so John went on. “How’s your foot?"

"My foot? It’s fine…? Ah, a patient.”

“Yep, woman, teacher broke her foot in three places. She’ll need surgery and weeks of bed rest and crutches”

“You thought of me.”

“Yes because you were alone during your ordeal while she had a husband. So I just wanted to hear your voice and make sure you're alright, let you know you are not alone.”

“I do know that, John. I’m with Harris.” Sherlock teased.

“Listen. Tell that man that he better stop flirting with my boyfriend, or I will give him broken phalanges for his brazenry…” 

“Is this what I am now? That’s… interesting.”

“Problem Holmes? Not liking the label? Planning on kissing other blokes?”

“Are you going to call me that in front of people?”

“Yes! And I would love to see anyone try to stop me! Oh and put Harris on the phone, I haven’t notified him of our status change yet.”

“John, is this really why you called? It seems like an odd hour to show off we are... boyfriends.” 

At that, DI Harris let out a breath, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

“Not really…,” said John, somewhat deflated, “... I… I wanted to say, I’m thinking of you, I miss you and want to be with you, love.”

Sherlock stood there, blinking, not knowing how to respond to that on the phone, in presence of a DI from the yard. He wanted to say so many things, and words failed him.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Oh, remember, Harry and Meghan are coming in tomorrow. They’ll stay at a hotel. Hmm… maybe we could, you know, get together with them? Anyway.”

“John? Me too… all that. Just...working now.”

“That’s alright. I’ll text you later. Bye.”

********

Meghan loved to see how Harry changed in London. She stood up straighter, she dressed sharper, she took time with her makeup. Having grown up in the leisurely, expansive state of Missouri in the USA, the tight packed, overactive, exciting city of London, held definite allure for her. 

Tonight, however, her attention was completely taken by this little family reunion. She was happy to see Rosie had kept her hair style. She beamed at them in a pretty summer dress and her beloved bee Vans. John looked completely at home, with a pair of dark gray trousers, penny loafers, no socks and a blue shirt that looked so soft. He was laughing with Harry. She had on smart light grey trousers and a pink button up that made Meghan feel like an inadequate country bum with her flowered sundress and sandals. Thankfully she had let her brown hair down, instead of putting it up in a braid, like she had planned to initially.

Sherlock was sitting next to John, in a long sleeve maroon shirt and black trousers looking frankly uncomfortable, as if he didn’t know his place. They had smiled and Sherlock had deduced her new job as a dance teacher in a girl’s school, while John and Harry caught up on the lives of a few acquaintances. John laughed and placed a hand on Sherlock’s, who almost jumped out of his seat at the touch, but kept his hand where it was. Hmm, not so broken up any more? She looked at Harry, who was looking at the men’s hands, hawkeyed. Rosie was looking at her phone, trying hard not to show her smile. 

“Thanks for the invitation, Rosie. Always nice to come to London to see you.” Harry said smiling.

“It would be nicer if we could have sleepovers, Harry. I could show you my experiment book and my stories.”

“How about the night after the show we bring you to the hotel? Would you be alright with that, John?"

Though Rosie’s expression brightened like fireworks, he said, “We’ll have to see”.

“So, Sherlock. What’s new?” Harry smirked, looking pointedly at their joined hands.

“Nothing.”

John turned and looked at him.

“Surely there must be something to report?”

“If you mean my latest case, I can gladly hand you a copy of the police report once I sign it. Whether you find industrial espionage and professional betrayal of any interest is up to you. On the other hand, if you would prefer my therapy reports…”

Meghan decided to cut in. “Rosie, what are you wearing for the presentation?” She half yelled.

“I have to dress up as a handmaid for the class play, but it’s going to be hard to handle the zippers and the headpiece. Will you help me dress at school Meghan?”

Sherlock was even more put off by not being the one to help Watson. The evening did not get much better, as the ladies were tired from their trip and decided to retire to bed. 

********

[Polaroid - Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/wmjyO-r1OhA)

Sherlock shared a cab with John and Watson, then went home himself, to find Harry Watson smoking against the doorframe, a large bag next to her. Without saying a word, he opened the door, gestured her in, and let her in his flat. She put the cigarette out. 

“Come here, you poor sod.” Neverminded the notable tension of his body, or the way the word ‘poor’ physically grated his skin. Harry hugged tight, and after a moment, he relaxed and gave in. When he did, she put her hands through his hair, repeatedly.

After a while of this, they went to the living room and Sherlock realized her bag had a six pack of ginger beer and a carton of cigarettes, those exquisite, italian biscuits dipped in chocolate, and enough food to take them through a week. 

“We have some talking that should have been done a long time ago. Only never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever think it would be me listening to you, and not the other way around.”

“I suppose it could be considered retribution. I listened when you were afraid of having a setback while Meghan made up her mind about moving from the U.S to England to live with you.”

“You still talk posh, don’t you? Go get comfortable. I’ll set up the nibbles. I brought some sushi, some biscuits and plenty cigarettes to take us through the night.”

Harry started the conversation in a bull by the horns kind of way. She recounted John and Rosie’s arrival to Cardiff and how upset Rosie had been. They talked about John and their fight over the school papers and how it had escalated. Sherlock told her a sanitized, though not much, account of the night he ended up at Mycroft’s, the depression and the therapy with Dr. Quentin. He also confessed he hadn’t told any of this to John. 

She listened to him, got up to get them each a bottle of ginger beer. “You looked really anxious tonight. I would have thought you’d be over the moon to be back with old man John. You looked anything but.”

“It’s… I’m not good at knowing what John is truly feeling. I don’t know what he really wants from me. I only very recently started accepting we are truly broken up. I had my exercise, I changed my hair, I went to clubs to dance…”

“Yeah, about that, I heard about your ‘boyfriend’...”

“Friend, Harry. Friend with benefits. Before that even happened, I called John to confirm we were still broken up.”

“Did he ever extend the same courtesy to you?” Harry asked.

“Well no. He’s the one who left.”

“You didn’t tell him you hated him dating?”

Sherlock’s brow scrunched up. “Harry, we are broken up, what would it have mattered? Don’t people break up because they do not want to have to consider the other one’s feelings any more? This is what I can’t comprehend. He broke up with me. That tells me he didn’t want me anymore. Now he’s my boyfriend. Quite frankly, I expect him to break me up again anytime. It is very confusing”

“Geez, if it were me and Meghan, I would take it to mean she came to her senses and remembered she loves me. I would have thought she came back because she means to stay back.”

“No comparison. Meghan loves you. You have known from the start. You were never second best, or a last resort for her. It is different when you can’t help but thinking any intelligent, attractive woman he talks with could be the “One” and I’m left alone again.”

Harry had listened open mouthed. “What?? What are you on about? You are The One for John. It was always you, Sherlock. That’s why I never bothered with Mary. Didn’t even go to the bloody wedding. John and I had such a fight about that. Not being his true self. Why would you doubt John loves you?”

“Aside from the fact he dumped me like so much baggage after 6 years? We have never been very demonstrative, it has been difficult to ascertain the depths of his feelings. He was always so very careful to be private. To not give anything away…”

“Wait… Has John ever said he loves you?”

“Well, he did use to call me ‘love’. He did say, sometime close to the beginning. He would usually say ‘You know how I feel’.”

“Holmes. You are going to tell me right now how your relationship began. Use that eidetic memory of yours. I want to know how the two of you became a couple.”

Sherlock took out another bottle of ginger beer, opened it and swallowed half of it down before answering.

“Very well then. It was 11 months after he came back to live here. After therapy, and anger management. I had been clean a year, and Watson was getting close to her third birthday. One evening after I put her to bed, John came home from a long shift. He sat on the sofa, me in my chair. I got up and made us tea. I fought with the telly until John turned it off abruptly…

Sherlock had looked at him doubtfully. “John?”

John had got up, coming close to Sherlock’s chair. He had held the detective’s face in his hands and given him a look the detective couldn’t figure out. “Sherlock…,” he had said tenderly, “would you want this? Would this be alright? We don’t have to. Things won’t change between us if you say ‘no’.”...

“I admit to being quite confused and fuzzy brained. After all, John wasn’t being specific, he was throwing questions at me while I could look in his eyes, feel his hands and his breath, catch his scent. I understood that he wanted to kiss me, so I hurriedly said ‘Yes!!’ Quite enthusiastically.

Then he took me to my bed, and was very gentle with me. It was a surprise, as it was that from then on he would no longer go upstairs to sleep. He slept hugging me instead. I was shocked when he called it ‘our relationship’. I asked him then, why he wanted a relationship with me.” Sherlock fidgeted. “He said he was done dating women and moving around. He wanted a home and adventure and somebody to raise his child with. He said he wanted me. I did ask him then, if he loved me. He laughed and said ‘You are just getting this? Of course I do, you git. I always did.’ Then we got distracted by… other activities. I took his word for granted, for the time being.”

“Not the most romantic of starts, but it still got you to be a couple. Still an upgrade from ‘best friends’. You were happy, right?” Harry sat on the carpet, legs crossed, holding her bottle of ginger beer.

“Yes! Very much so. As was Mrs. Hudson, and my parents. Even Mycroft and Lestrade. John waited quite a while to tell you. Even more to tell any of his friends other than Mike, and maybe that was because he is my friend as well.” Sherlock talked without meeting her eyes.

“I wouldn’t have accepted that from Meghan. Hidden relationships are so not on. Didn’t it bother you? Why didn’t you snap him out of that?”

“I just wanted to accept how he felt. At the time I felt guilty for having shared with my parents as quickly as I did. I was...overcome, I guess.”

Harry wore a thoughtful expression. “But he was never expressive, right? I remember when Meghan’s family came to visit and you guys came over for the picnic. He introduced you to everyone as ‘my best friend’, even though you were clearly holding hands and dancing together. I called him on it. He explained the two of you had agreed to not be obvious in public because you feared they could be targeted.”

“Well I did ask him to not behave differently at the Yard or during work. I also asked him not to put it on the blog, for fear enemies would target him or Watson. He did take it seriously. More, perhaps, than I would have liked,” admitted Sherlock.

Harry fidgeted and seemed to make a decision, “That sounds familiar. Actually, sounds like me when I started out with Clara. Sherlock, my father was a homophobic jackass. He made my life hell. I learned to sneak around. For ages I felt that I was less than a person for being gay. Even after he was gone. It hurts to admit, but he so influenced me that I would actually blame Clara, for loving her. I drank and we fought constantly…”

“John does not drink, except for some beer when he goes out with Lestrade. We argued, but he never fought physically!” Sherlock insisted.

“Did you guys fight fair?” She asked.

“I don’t know what you mean. We fought like all couples fight. Never in front of Rosie.”

Harry saw their father’s influence in John’s actions.

“Tell me about Sholto…,” Harry asked quietly.

“No.” Sherlock pouted, and Harry knew it had stung him, badly even.

“I’m waiting. It wasn’t a question.” Harry could assume the Captain Watson voice without ever having been in the army.

“Why do you insist on reminding me of every reason I shouldn’t even consider this? Fine. John had maintained contact with Sholto. I hadn’t been aware of it. I saw emails from ‘Hearts for Africa’ but I read through one that was a request for donations and never looked at them again. I was supposed to respect John’s privacy. Anyway, Sholto had told John about his relationship and his breakup, his return to London. He was devastated. Looking for old friends, to listen to him. John went out with him, got drunk with him. Then, he invited him over. When we were alone, the General asked me if I was ever going to make a move on John. I understood it then. Sholto had been in communication with John, through email but he didn’t know. John and I had been together almost five years. Five years, and he didn’t consider our relationship worthy of telling Sholto.

After that evening, I started to notice every time he took his hand out of mine as we walked, and the times he made condescending remarks about my behaviour to unimportant people in front of me. I started working complicated cases to feel more competent, and continued despite his objections. He responded by stopping any participation in the cases, not even writing about them, taking away physical affection, cuddling in front of the telly, hugging for greeting or saying farewell. As he withdrew, I stopped even trying to be social. I worked more, started taking cases that involved travel. By the end of the sixth year, we stopped having any form of intimacy. We weren’t even talking. Even so, I would have never foreseen he would leave.”

Harry looked at him, “ Sherlock, did you ever talk with John about Sholto? Did you confront him? Tell him your feelings? That seems like something you should have brought up!”

“What for? The evidence was all there,” he answered

“It just doesn’t sound like Johnny! He never mentioned Sholto to me while you guys were together. Not once! Even though we did talk about our friends. He mentioned Mike, Bill, and Lestrade, Mostly we talked about you guys. He did love you, and he would come to me for advice when things started going south. Not once did he mention having a pen pal.” 

Sherlock’s face locked up at that. Harry took the conversation to the better, lighter way they were getting along now a days, though she saw clearly that Sherlock wasn’t able to trust John’s intentions. She really couldn’t see a solution, other than time and constant reassurance. Apparently, John was better aware these days and understood now that as much as he had always denied it, he too had been affected by their fathers’ homophobia. Also his lack of communication and his bad experiences with Mary, were a big part of their problems. John was working towards developing better skills. It remained to see if Sherlock could be patient enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's featured story is a fantastic AU [My Pictures of You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260422) by the incomparable 72reasons.   
The music, as always, available at [Will You Take Me Home? ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh what a night!! It’s Rosie’s night! Not only does Sherlock get to see Rosie sing at school! He also gets a dinner with friends and family at Angelo’s and a surprise. Then there is a night, a lovely night. Then some not so lovely days. The men finally talk and they revisit “The Fight” that started it all. There is hope here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [ Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) for being such loyal supporters and finding time for me as you write your own stories and live your talented, fulfilling lives.  
Also thank you for my dear readers and commentors! I'm so grateful for the reception of my humble monster, and happy that you find something enjoyable in it! Beware in this chapter, there is an Omnipotent Mycroft! This author invoked the spirit of Creative License here to be able to give Sherlock what he so richly deserved!!

“Oooh Meg, hurry, huuurrryyy!!”

“I’m trying, child, but you fidget so! Calm down. You did fine, it will be alright!!”

“You don’t understand! This is a surprise!! Sherlock hates surprises! This is a bad idea!!” Rosie fretted.

“No!” Pepsi said. “It’s you!! He will love it! Calm yourself down. You’ve said it a hundred times, you’ve sung the song a hundred times. You will be great!"

Meghan added the finishing touches to Rosie’s very short hair. A couple of bee hair clips, to go with her yellow dress and her black shoes. She looked stunning. Sherlock was going to have kittens alright.

They heard Ms. Lane’s announcement: “Every year a child is picked to sing a solo for their own cause. This year, the chosen singer asked to sing to a very dear family member, a song chosen by herself…” This was Rosie’s cue to go to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, families and friends, our soloist for the night, Ms. Rosie Watson!"

Sherlock was surprised. All of the hours playing Karaoke made sense now. The imp had kept this to herself. John, sitting next to him, looked absolutely happy. The bloody sod had known. There was his girl, looking ravishing in a new yellow dress with black lace and black shoes. Little Bee. She looked so nervous, waving hello and taking a bow. Ms. Landon took her place at the piano, and Mr. Rubens, the year 5 teacher, had a cello. Ms. Ruiz had a guitar. Pepsi and Nyla, in similar dresses, stood behind her at a distance, the background singers.

Watson stepped up to the microphone, tapped it and blew into it to check sound. She quieted herself. Stood up straight, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes.

“Our family has gone through rough times this year. We have suffered through separation, loneliness, illness and sadness. But my fathers, they are magnificent people, who know how to make the best of not good situations. Now, we are stronger for it. We are all loved and cared for. We have each other. 

Tonight, I want to honor one person who is everything to me. See, my father, John, shared his genes with me. We are forever together. He knows what he means to me. My papa, Sherlock. He has had such a hard time…,” her voice started to crack, but she breathed and got through it. “...I want to let him know just what I feel for him. So I am singing to you Sherlock. Because I love you so very much.”

It was a good thing John had asked Greg to record her, because he was absorbed in looking at Sherlock, who was immobile, cheeks flushed, eyes moist, mouth slightly opened. 

********

“Tonight, I’m singing [ "You'll Be In My Heart"](https://youtu.be/jazE5SUzZzE)

There was nothing other than that little girl on the stage. A sun, bright in the darkness, shining and burning him. Her voice was the beacon that would ground him. Everything else could fail and fall away. This was the unbreakable bond. At the moment Sherlock did not need anything, anyone else. He felt a presence next to him, reminding him to breathe, a hand in his, far away.

When the song finished the auditorium erupted in applause, the crowd giving Rosie a standing ovation. Sherlock remained immobile, shaking, until John nudged him “Go to her.” He snapped into action, flew to the stage and fell to his knees with his arms around his“Little Bee”. He was a shaking, leaking mess and Rosie broke into sobs kissing his hair. John came to the rescue, with a bouquet of yellow roses for her and good old Bee. He hugged them both, helped Sherlock off the floor and got him off stage so Rosie could take a bow. Molly had a bottle of water for him.

People started exiting the auditorium, having to sign the children out in order to leave. The concert signaled the closure of the school year. Friends and family who had attended started leaving. Rosie saw Nyla and Pepsi and ran to hug them. 

John stood in front of Sherlock, held his hands, “Sherlock. Are you alright?”

Sherlock, still looking a little lost, tried to focus on John, “Yes.”

He took Sherlock’s face in his hands and kissed his lips lightly. “Good, because we are all going to Angelo’s to celebrate this.”

Sherlock had not realized how many people came with them; the Stamfords, Nyla and both her moms, Molly and Bill, Mrs. Hudson, Harry and Meghan, and Lestrade; hadn’t he seen Mycroft? The girls had their own table. People seemed content talking amongst themselves. Angelo came to whisper something to John and gave him a packet. He got up and took Sherlock by the hand and led him to a private sitting room.

“Sorry, Rosie and I wanted to take a chance and surprise you with the song. I have another surprise for you. I need you to focus.” John said, he was crouching in front of the armchair Sherlock was sitting in, head in his hands. He raised his face, looked at John and froze.

“John, you are not...Not now, please, don’t…”

John looked alarmed for a moment, then took in what this looked like. He laughed, pulled a chair next to Sherlock, and put a hand on his back. “This is Rosie’s night. This has to do strictly with her. She doesn’t know about this bit yet. Please, look at this. I would like you to fill this out. If you want to. If you don't, nothing will change. Just…” John took the papers out of the envelope and presented them to Sherlock.

He took them and read. “This is for real? Have you thought this through? This can’t be taken back John.” His voice was a whisper.

“That’s the point. It’s permanent. No guessing, no fretting.” John offered him a pen.

“What if Rosie would prefer a mother? If you find a woman and marry her? Wouldn’t she want this?” Sherlock was annoyed with himself, moist eyes and trembling limbs seemed the order of the day.

“I believe Rosie showed you her feelings tonight. I am not looking for a woman, Sherlock. I am staying in your life. I have all I ever wanted right here. No one else could be this. Only you.”

Sherlock sat looking at the documents. “Call her in please. I have to ask her.’

John went to bring Rosie in, and then stayed right outside the door. 

“Bumble?’

“Little Bee, what you did tonight. It meant everything for me. I loved every second of it. That alone will sustain me, always. Your dad, he has this idea. I need to know, first. Anything you answer is good, Watson. I know little girls need mothers. It’s perfectly fine if you want one, but…,” by this point, Watson had looked around, her eyes settling on the papers on the little round table.

“Sherlock?! Do those say… Adoption? Are they adoption papers?’’ her voice growing alarmingly higher and louder.

“Yes, but it’s just a suggestion… we can take some time to…”

“YEEEESSSSS. OH GOD…,”squealing now, “...Sherlock!! You’ll be my Papa now!! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

John entered the room then, with Mycroft in tow. Sherlock smiled. “Of course, you had to have your hands in this, brother.”

“First of all. Congratulations are due. To you, Rosie, for your solo, and to the three of you for this step you are taking. I would like you to go over the paperwork. It’s necessary to ascertain that the facts are correct. This document here, John allows addressing of the name issue.”

John looked amused. He called Rosie over. “This is what you want then?”

Which made Sherlock look through his application and find her name: Rosalie Amelia Watson-Holmes. He also noticed that this wasn’t a proper application, but an adoption certification, granted upon his signature. With Rosie jumping up and down about her new name, Sherlock, having lost the ability to talk, got up and for the first time in his whole adult life, in possession of his senses, with no meltdown or overdose, of his own free will, stepped forward to hug Mycroft, who after a minute of stunned surprise, heartily hugged back.

The signatures in place, the documents collected and safeguarded in Mycroft’s suitcase, the group returned to the dining room. Mycroft announced them; “Ladies and Gentlemen, friends and family, Ms. Rosalie Amelia Watson-Holmes and her father, Sherlock Holmes.” The group erupted in applause, everyone getting up to hug them and greet them. Sherlock noticed his parents had also joined the party. Angelo served dinner, then dessert and coffee. Angelo even put music on, the guest moved the tables. [ "I Hope You Dance" ](https://youtu.be/I7F3tx0KEgo) started and Rosie got Sherlock to dance with her. His parents were staying at the hotel Harry and Meghan were, they were all apparently spending the weekend, and mummy had already secured an outing to the theater with her new granddaughter and her three friends, on Sunday. She would spend tomorrow night with Harry at the hotel, but tonight, a happy, exhausted little girl demanded both her fathers spend the night with her. John considered asking to go to Bakers Street, knowing Sherlock would probably not deny it tonight, but he offered his flat anyway and it was accepted.

It was much past midnight, Rosie had been falling asleep in Sherlock’s lap in the cab. Once at the flat, she went to her room to change into her pajamas. Sherlock circled the living room with the last of his nervous energy. “John. I’m aware we must have a conversation. Could it please be tomorrow? I, I want to…” He looked towards the room. 

“Go. Go be with your daughter, Papa.” John smiled.

Sherlock returned the smile, looking absolutely happy. John heard laughter, squeaks, Sherlock’s voice, reading or reciting something, then… nothing. He made himself some tea. Wrote an entry in his journal. Made a rough sketch of Rosie singing on the stage. He thought of a full painting of Sherlock and Rosalie looking at each other while holding hands at Angelo’s when Mycroft introduced them. He went to check on them. Sherlock had changed into John’s old sleeping clothes. They were asleep in bed, Rosie in Sherlock’s arms, holding on to his vest. Too bad the bed wasn’t big enough for him to slip in. This, however, was their night. He went back to the sofa.

********

The next day, Sherlock had been gone early, as Harris had called him, and Rosie was to spend the day with her aunts anyway. Sherlock did contact John, giving him the basics about the case. It was an attempted poisoning of a 60 year old woman. She was in the hospital, being treated, but they told her family she had died, to monitor them. Sherlock suspected her much younger husband’s sister, while all other eyes, including Harris, were on the husband. 

John sent him a text.

-Everything alright? You left before I saw you.

-Yes. Fine. Needed to sort myself out. SH

-Quite a lot yesterday, then.

-Obviously. SH

John decided to give him space. He went through his email, and found an interesting proposal. His recent work with the veterans had been noted. The newly founded Veteran’s Health Association was offering him a series of conferences that would prepare him for a senior post as an Advocate for Veteran Services and Resident practitioner in their newly completed Veteran’s institute. This would be quite a commute from London, especially if late nights turned into common occurrences. He couldn’t deny that he loved the idea of the job though. He was so lost in thought, he hadn’t looked at his phone for a while.

-John. Case closed. I find the prospect of returning to Baker street boring. SH

-Will you go with Watson to Harry’s? SH

-Would you consider takeaway and one of those ridiculous movies? SH

-It’s fine if you are busy. It was an idea. SH

John hurriedly texted Sherlock back to reassure him he had been distracted by his email, no, he wasn’t spending the night with Harry, and yes takeaway and a movie was fine. He got back to his flat, cleaned it up and took a shower, just in time for Sherlock to come in with Chinese and a six pack of the same kind of ginger beer Harriet had taken to Baker. 

“I can “deduce” who you have been talking to.” John smiled, pointing at the Ginger Beer.

“Your sister carries on about the most boring topics in the most tedious of ways. The ginger beer, however, is top quality.”

They gave the movie a try, though neither man was interested. Sherlock gave up, lowered the volume and turned to face John.

“John. I couldn’t talk about this yesterday. I was overcome. The song alone would have been too much. The adoption… You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did. I’ve seen how worried you both have been about not ‘really’ being father and daughter. You were scared you didn’t have rights, that Rosie could be taken away. She was terrified when we were travelling to Cardiff. She was screaming ‘He’s taking me away from my dad!’ I knew you both deserved peace of mind.”

“I won’t repeat myself, since it’s done now anyway. I just hope you have given the matter deep consideration, as I will exercise my parental rights from now on.”

John smiled warmly; “you sound as if I intend to oppose you in some way. We are boyfriends, remember? Sherlock, do you think I would have taken a step like this lightly? I am very sure of what I did. I simply gave my daughter her father in writing. Nobody else deserves to call themselves her parent. Once more, I’m not going anywhere, ever again. I am sure. I’m your boyfriend now. I will be anything you want me to. I will stay as close to you as you want me to be.”

“I admit I want you closer than you are at the moment, John.”

John went to him. Sat next to him on the small couch, brought him into his arms. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes, hoping he could convey how sorry he was for his mistakes, how much he had missed him, how much he felt for him. His hand went through Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock draped himself across John’s chest, hiding his head in the crook of his neck, his hand holding on to John’s comfy blue vest. John moved a gentle hand up and down his back, then reaching to his cheek. When Sherlock raised his head and looked at John, he could still see hurt and doubt in the man’s eyes, in spite of what he had just said. John would have done anything, to take those feelings away. His eyes went wet. Sherlock kissed him, joining their lips as if he were to get burned. Different, so different from the kisses they had been sharing recently, from what they had shared before. These kisses were tentative, soft, loving. Sherlock stood up, taking John’s hand. John lead them to the small bedroom, noting that Sherlock dropped his phone on the bookshelf. 

“There is no one else. There hasn’t been anyone for months. No one else ever mattered. Only you.” said John.

“Nor for me, John… Luther, he, I just... I wanted to know if…”

“You don’t have to explain anything, love. This is now, it’s what matters.” John kissed him. He opened Sherlock’s shirt. Slowly, John opened Sherlock’s shirt. He had one hand in John’s hair and the other on his shoulder. John opened his trousers then took off his own. Sherlock sat on the bed, took off his shoes, his socks and sat looking down. John undressed, keeping his pants on, and sat next to him, one hand on his back, gently making circles.

“Sherlock, we don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for.” John could see Sherlock was affected, even a bit insecure. He wished he could make this easier for him.

Sherlock looked up, with such an expression of confusion, apparently unable to talk. John got up, and fluffled the pillows. He pulled the covers back, turned on the small lamp and turned off the lights. Then he invited Sherlock in and he went, on the bed, into his arms. 

“Let this be different than that last time, please." he said in the smallest voice John had heard from him.

“This is us, putting back together the pieces that work, fitting in new ones that work better than before. You and I against the rest of the world, love.” Now John was having trouble getting the words out.

“Not against each other any more.” Sherlock’s voice was a whisper.

“Never again. This time we will always say what we need. And we listen to the other.” John held Sherlock’s face in his hand now. 

“I will do everything I can for you John. Tell me when I’m doing something wrong.” He was quiet for a moment, looking a little dazed. Then he blurted out, “Don’t leave me again. Not even one more time. Alright?” Sherlock lost the battle for hiding his utmost fear, this one, most devastating thing, that had already happened. That John may back out and walk away, again. He quite hated the moment the words slipped out.

They held each other, skin against skin, for a long time. When John was about to turn the lamp off, Sherlock pushed him belly up and raised his head on his hand. “May I touch you?” John nodded his consent, and watched Sherlock touch his arm, his chest, making circles with his index finger through John’s chest hair. He got on his knees and drew the contour of John’s body, trying to temper his feelings by collecting plain and rational data. “You’ve lost fat. These muscles are newly defined.” He touched John’s legs, rubbing his hands against the body hair. He touched both feet, enveloping each one in his hands, pressing on the soles as he did when he gave massages. He then went back up to the shoulders, the left one, with the old scar. Sherlock followed the outlines with his finger, the lines around his eyes spoke of longing. The slight tremor in his hand of suppressed desires, “How I have missed you,” he sighed.

John really didn’t want to cry. Not now, that they were together. He sat up and kissed Sherlock again. “My turn!” Sherlock closed his eyes. “No. Open them Sherlock. It’s really us. I’m touching you, recognizing every part of you.” He did what Sherlock had done to him, but with a firmer, deeper touch, grounding him. Then he took his face in his hands, kissed that long slim neck and came back to his mouth. Sherlock pulled him closer, chest on chest. Sherlock put his hand in John’s pants, just as gently as they had done everything else. He reached under the pillow, where he had put the bottle of lube. “Your hand on me, John.” 

They put slick on their hands. John got them to lay side by side.This was overwhelming him. John hadn’t realized just how much he had missed his madman, until he felt complete as he never had since he left 221B. He almost could not believe it, this miracle, Sherlock by his side once more. He remembered how his love liked to be handled, slowly, firmly to start, then faster and harder on the head. Too soon, he was close. His legs quivered, his bullocks tightened up.

Then Sherlock moved away a bit and took over, covering both their cocks with his bigger hand, putting them together, rubbing against each other. That sensation, so a part of their intimacy, John had dreamed of, and missed intensely. John held Sherlock’s arse, massaged it. Sherlock moaned, his breathing irregular. He came first, groaning as he spilled over, his release ending up on John’s belly, his hand pumping John hard, so that he came almost instantly, so strongly, his mind whited out. They stayed still, their hands and the sheets splattered with bodily fluids. 

John had to move, to get wet rags to clean up, but Sherlock got up into the bathroom and stayed for a long while, the shower running with no one in it. John fought sleep, until he came back to bed. John decided against a shower when Sherlock cuddled against him, little spoon.

He didn’t even have to open his eyes, the next morning, to know Sherlock was not there. 

*******

Keep the mind busy, the body active, don’t think, don’t feel, can’t sort this out, not now. Work, research, phone on vibrate. No Watson, she’s with her grands, Box, Work, work, run, work.

One day, two days, three, falling asleep on his feet. His phone was dead. He spent time at the Yard, at Barts, he went to Lestrade’s. Wednesday evening had him considering how to negotiate the pick up on Thursday without talking to…

“Hi there. You have been… impossible to reach.” The object of his discomfort stood next to the front door, in khaki trousers and a light, checkered short sleeve shirt. Arms crossed, expression calm.

“Busy. Married to my work, remember?”

John sighed and took a deep breath. 

“Talk to me Sherlock”

“Busy. Case. Bored.”

“Was it… was it the sex Sherlock? You weren’t ready? Because we don’t have…” John stammered

“I know. We don’t have to. I’m not a virginal girl scared by sex with my ex-lover of years!! Furthermore, I do not appreciate you bringing this up in the street. Manners, John.” Sherlock hissed.

“Well we may go inside and talk. I really want to know why you feel you have to stay away from me. I thought we agreed to work on this together. To talk about what we’re feeling.” John hoped his serene voice could calm Sherlock down.

“Would you feel better if I told you I don’t know what I feel? Do you want to hear how confused I am that you let me adopt Watson, after taking me off her papers in the first place? Or how pissed off I am at myself for sleeping with you? And no. You are most definitely NOT coming into the home YOU CHOSE TO LEAVE!” Sherlock was in a fury, totally oblivious of his manners.

John was also furious; with himself for having thought this would be easy and with the git for being well impossible. “Am I to understand you do not desire to continue being my boyfriend? Are we back to co-parents?" He asked in the calmest voice he could muster.

Sherlock reacted by getting into John’s personal space. His face flushed with anger and breathing harshly. He might have looked menacing to anyone else, but John knew him too well. The genius was out of rude comebacks. “Answer please.” John asked.

“Yes! NO! I don’t know! I don’t know, John! I hate not knowing. Only you can do this to me! YOU!! You were the one who left, who “Couldn’t take it” anymore, and I had to accept, had to learn to live with it! Now you’re saying it wasn’t what you really felt, and you want me again and I don’t know how to do this! I don’t want to be trembling and insecure. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you in my flat! I’m a bloody MESS!!" He pulled at his hair and paced around as he talked/yelled. When he stopped, he had his back towards John, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his forehead.

*********

John quietly thanked his therapists, present and past, and any guiding spirit that might have allowed him to be calm and patient at this moment. He quietly stepped in front of Sherlock, placed his hand firmly around the wrist at Sherlock’s hip and the other around Sherlock’s wrist close to his eyes, bringing them together. “Breathe with me,” he directed, and Sherlock, despite an epic eye roll, did.

“Speedy’s?” asked John, when Sherlock loosened up a little and his heartbeat had slowed. 

“Fine,” and he let John hold on to his wrist as they walked.

They sat in silence for a while as they sipped their tea. When it became clear Sherlock would not start the conversation, he took a deep breath and started with:

“Harriet brought something to my attention; a significant misunderstanding. “Hearts for Africa” was the organization James Sholto worked for. And yes I did communicate with him but…”

Sherlock’s hands went up in the are as he said, “Ugh, Harriet. Why can’t the woman keep a confidence? You don’t have to exp…”

“She said you never asked her to keep a secret, and shut up, because you are listening to me now…,” he said in his Captain Watson voice.

Sherlock regaled John with another epic eye roll and crossed his arms, but remained seated.

“... as I was saying; the organization sent automatic emails three or four times a year…,” John started

“More like five.” Sherlock interrupted.

John took a deep breath and continued; “... fine, five times a year, sending out donation reports, asking for more, and such. It got so I only scanned the titles. I missed James’ first actual email. I only responded two weeks later, after looking up a receipt for something and actually seeing the headline addressed to me from him. There he had been letting me know he and Milton had separated. There had been some nasty fights and he begged me to keep things private. I answered him right then, as best I could and in my hurry, I only addressed things he wrote to me. There was one more personal email, and that was to inform me that he was coming back home to England. The fights with Milton had continued as they had to work together and he was feeling dangerously depressed. 

You and I had been together for years, we were not new. Then, James came back, and you saw him; he looked horrible! The breakup had really messed him up. To be honest I didn’t think about us. I should have told you about what was going on. Or at least, I should have just held your hand, or asked you to join us and have you sit with me, instead of being with James in the living room while you were anywhere but.” John was leaning over the table, looking straight into Sherlock’s eyes.

“I admit your behavior did confuse me, especially since I saw the amount of emails from “Hearts for Africa” and believed they were all personal messages from him to you. I didn’t know about the breakup, or the depression. When we were alone and he asked me why I hadn’t made a move on you, I thought you had enough time to have informed him about our relationship, but hadn’t thought it important enough. That, added to the fact you were never particularly inclined to acknowledge our partnership outside the walls of our home, gave me the impression that you were not comfortable with me as your partner.” Sherlock didn’t look John in the eyes.

“I wish I could tell you I was only protecting our privacy, but I have to admit, I was being an arse. It was never you, Sherlock. I never doubted my love for you, I’ve always wanted you. I’m the idiot. I preferred that my army mates didn’t know I was in a relationship with a man. Murray knew, as well as Darcy, but some of the other men were really idiots about same sex relationships. I don’t know why I held back. I needed to see you slipping away, another man leading you away from me, happily holding your hand in front of Queen and Country, to wake up.”

“Slipping away? We were broken up, John.” Sherlock complained.

“Yes, but after the trip to Cardiff, there were two entire months when I didn’t see you at all. You wouldn’t answer my texts, wouldn’t take my calls. That time was the worst since the time you were - away. I tried to move on, to date, to exercise. Anything to ‘get over’ you, but nothing helped. I was so happy when I finally saw you, but by then you were with Luther.” 

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh. “We were broken up! I even checked with you before engaging in any kind of physical congress with Luther. He and I were not a couple, not in love. I just wanted to test whether someone else could possibly want to be with me in an intimate manner.”

“I saw you, you know. That night you were dancing. You had a green shirt on. You looked gorgeous, Sherlock. I was there. You were very slim, your hair very short. You danced like a pro.”

“Green shirt. The night I first went with Luther. Why didn’t you come to me, then? Oh. You were with someone else.” Sherlock looked away. “Gianna, still?”

John huffed. “I broke up with her the day after… she sent those texts, Sherlock. We had agreed she wouldn’t, because of Rosie. I had no other relationships after her, even she didn’t count. I did go on dates, to try to stop thinking. I hadn’t heard from you in two months, Sherlock!”

“I was quite sick, in no condition to see you. Dr. Quentin said Depression/Anxiety disorder and suicidal ideation. That in addition to all my usual diagnoses. I felt I had to stay with Mycroft for a while, until I was able to get out of the dark place I was in. Watson was my beacon. Dr. Quentin has been very helpful providing guidance as how to better my routines and how to let myself know what I will and will not accept from other people. I have worked hard, to get better, to be able to work cases, to take care of my physical condition, and of Watson. I won’t let anyone compromise this, John - not, not even you.” Sherlock said.

To John this information filled in many gaps about the time after Cardiff. That he had voluntarily stayed with Mycroft meant the situation had been truly dire. John shamefully remembered thinking that if Rosie had thrown a tantrum, Sherlock would be in the same state. Mike’s and Greg’s reluctance to talk about Sherlock, Mycroft’s aggressiveness, and Rosie’s sadness, and Mrs. Hudson’s talk the other day made sense now. John had suspected Sherlock had been using, though he had carefully kept those ideas to himself, and he was now happy he had.

“Sherlock, I would never compromise your health. I wasn’t aware that you were unwell while we weren’t communicating. I’m here because it’s the only place I want to be. I have made many mistakes Sherlock, and the biggest one I’ve made lately is underestimating our relationship, our family. I thought there was something outside of it I wanted. I was upset that you had focused on ever more complicated cases, that you didn’t need me anymore, so I left. Even when I constantly told you we were broken up, when I was loaded with anger, and went out on dates, I failed to consider you might turn your interest elsewhere, that you might find another person to help you, another doctor, another partner in business, another lover. When I realized you were able to move on without me, I saw everything I loved, slipping away from me, and Beverly and Harry helped me come back to my senses.

Harry showed me how much I was becoming something I hated, treating you at times the way Mary used to treat me. Sherlock, I have learned my lesson. Please know that my attempt to leave you and move on were misguided failures. I intend to be in your life from now on, in any form you want me: co-parent, friend, boyfriend… everything, Sherlock. I will not be shying away from showing what I feel for you anymore and I will not leave again.”

********

Sherlock looked up from the turtle he had made from the newspaper and gave a bitter laugh, “I started taking harder cases, because after Sholto’s visit, I felt inept as your partner, unworthy. I wanted to feel competent, to have excitement, adventure to offer you so I could hear you say how amazing I was, so you could be proud of me, only to see you retreat until there was no intimacy or affection left. Even so, I never thought you would leave.”

They were quiet, as both remembered the last fight: 

********

“Three days, Sherlock!! You disappeared for three bloody days, without one bit of consideration for Rosie, for me! I was going crazy without knowing where the fuck you were, if you were kidnapped, hurt, dead!! Donovan didn’t even know about the case!! I know you’re a selfish, egocentric bastard, but I can’t do this anymore! I have a daughter to consider! And she comes first!!” John was standing stiff, fists clenched, face red, raving mad.

“Quite frankly John, given the amount of interaction we have had this year, it never occurred to me that you would notice my absence, much less ‘go crazy’ over me. And even if you had noticed, I would have thought you would be happy without me to distract you from the predictable, ordinary life you have chosen to live under our roof. God forbid I try to tell you what the cases are about, or try to ask you for help!” Sherlock was projecting an ‘Iceman’ so cold, Mycroft would seem cozy.

“The bloody work is not everything, Sherlock!! You have responsibilities other than your fucking cases! You have a daughter who looks up to you, who asks incessantly about you while you don’t even bother calling, not to mention a partner…”

“Partner? What kind of partner have you been to me the last six months, John? You don’t even talk to me if it’s not about Watson! Unless it’s to chastise me about my behaviours in front of people who are not important. When we are out in public the only sign you give of knowing me is the way you point out my errors. You can’t even look at me, much less touch me! We haven’t slept in the same room for months! That is what you call a partner? I thought you would have _ Christmas _ without me around.”

“You know what? I can’t take it anymore!! Another room isn’t far enough. You think my life is boring, I say it’s purposeful. I have a daughter to be there for, to be present for. And yeah, there has been no partnership lately, and certainly no affection coming from you. So, maybe I will relish time without you. Maybe I will take my daughter and let you be! No more little girl depending on you, no more partner to point out your errors and hurt your tender sensitivities.” John wanted to poke Sherlock out of his mask, wake him up...

“Although I personally think running away is an idiotic way to resolve problems, I understand how your average intellect may believe it a comforting solution. I will differ with you in that I do not neglect Watson and I consider her of the utmost importance. I will also sustain I have attempted to show you affection multiple times, only to be rejected once and again. Therefore, John Watson, you are free to do whatever you please. Far be it from me to hold you to a person who can’t perform to your liking and whom you are uncomfortable to be around.”

“Oh, so that’s it! You are ok with me leaving, then?” John asked, smiling and huffing a little incredulous laugh.

“As always, I will be happy with whatever makes you happy. Now I would kindly appreciate you leave me alone to do my research.” Brave words, but Sherlock had not been prepared for the utter devastation he had felt when John took his word and his little girl and left. The joint custody had been the only thing that had allowed him to function.

********

Sitting at the cafe, their drinks cold in front of them, John said, his voice small, “We are different people now, Sherlock. I regret every single thing I said.”

“We are indeed different, John. I regret it too.”

“Sherlock, could we please move forward with this? *Can we start over? One more time…” John asked, trying to convey his feelings in every possible way.  
  
“One more miracle?” Sherlock smiled “John, for you, let’s try.”

John took Sherlock’s hands in his and looked him in the eyes. Finally, finally, he saw some hope there. Maybe they did have a chance after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will recommend another favorite, among the first fics I read when flirting with the Sherlock Fandom: [ The Pieces That Fall To Earth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566708/chapters/22839158#workskin) by Itsallfine. It's an epic S4 fix it, lovely format, the boys working hard to be able to succeed as a couple. I remember following it as a wip and being so happy with each update!  
The songs in this chapter are "You'll Be In My Heart" covered by Reese Oliveira, and "I Hope You Dance" as covered by Ronan Keating. Find them at the [ "Will You Take Me Home" ](www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3HG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e) playlist on YouTube


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have each acknowledged that help was needed to addresss the issues that led them to their break up. Each is at work with a therapist. John has finally opened up to Beverly and they are discussing topics he has had challenges with. Sherlock trusts Dr Q with advice and with helping him gain some objectivity.  
John is on a case with Sherlock, and though there are no more international webs of evil, there is excitment, a chase and a just reward. Also a little glimpse of something Sherlock purposefully started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always a thank you and a shout out to two extraordinary beta readers, authors, artists and overall amazing friends, [ Dovahlock221 ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [ Loveismyrevolution ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) Also thank you for all the beautiful people that check the story out, read it, look forward to it and leave lovely kudos and the best comments! All of you make this an amazing experience and now I want to go write some more so we can meet again once this Monster is done! Thank you!!

[ Sleeping At Last - "Two" ](https://youtu.be/PrDzd4ufypE)

So John took it purposefully slow . He gave Sherlock space, but texted him every day. Early, so he had a good morning greeting waiting on the phone, and late, to fill him in about what happened during the day. They exercised together. They went back to the boxing ring, but never sparred with one another. They rode their bicycles, and sometimes, they included their daughter. They got together at John’s place, and cooked for their family. Sherlock taught him how to make all of Watson’s favorite foods. John took pictures with his phone. Sometimes, when he was alone, he picked some and made them into his cartoons.

**********

“These are very impressive, John.” commented Dr Gates said as she looked through them. “I especially like this one, the looks between Sherlock and Rosie are very emotive, the background characters well drawn out.” Beverly’s expression was filled with admiration. “So what was the aftermath of your surprise? You were worried he would balk at the responsibility, or that he would be overwhelmed.”

“It’s not that I thought he didn’t want the responsibility. More like he would want to be sure it was the best for Rosie. He did ask me what would happen if I wanted to marry a woman. I had to assure him that will not be happening.” John said.

“Were all your guests there? Everyone present knew you guys are together again, right? Even the owner of the restaurant knew you as a couple.” Beverly stated.

“Yes! Everyone was there, it was part of what made it overwhelming for him. Though he conducted himself impeccably. That night he came to our flat and spent the night with Rosie. Her name is Rosalie now.” John beamed as he told her.

“How have you been doing with talking about Sherlock? Have you told anyone you guys are reunited?” She asked.

John laughed. “Well I can’t put it on the blog yet. He prefers I don’t. The people I get along with know our history and see us as a couple. They know. I did send an email to James Sholto. He is in South America now, and I told him we had been a couple back when he visited London. How we had our troubles and are now working our way back to each other.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He said he knew what we were to each other the moment he saw us together. He was happy we were in therapy and working on being a family again. I made a point of sending both emails to Sherlock.”

Beverly smiled. “What did Sherlock say?”

John smiled and did his Sherlock impersonation: “Tell Sholto that South America is a surprisingly good option to settle down in. Most people take education seriously and are excellent professionals. He can also have some advantages being an immigrant as he is a volunteer of much experience. He must be careful about overindulging with liquor as it can be surprisingly strong and easy to obtain. Also, Argentina has a precedent of conducting gay marriages even earlier than the U.S, so there is less stigma, at least for foreigners.” 

Beverly smiled: “That seems a very polite way of wishing he would make his stay there permanent.” 

Then they went on to work the topic with which John still had work to on.

*********

John also started to go on cases with Sherlock again. Granted, there hadn’t been a surplus of risky cases. This one, though was: A disgruntled ex-employee was suspected of killing three bus drivers of the route he used to work before getting fired for mouthing off at his bosses.

The drivers succumbed to poisoning, falling asleep and dying without recovering consciousness hours after their fatal encounter. Sherlock took the bus, calculated the average speed the drivers used. He graphed the speed at each different stop and kept tabs on them. When he saw a bus slow down drastically, he sent in Donovan, to check on the driver. He’s been poisoned, but after a couple of difficult days, he survived. Sherlock interrogated him and the man recalled the stop where a guy got on and struck up a conversation. The suspect had told him he used to be a driver, they talked shop. The bus swayed and the man almost fell. The driver held out his hand, the man took it, driver felt a tiny pinch, nothing really, bus started slowing down three stops later. 

Sherlock donned his blue jeans and old hoodie and went for a bus ride. He rode it for a couple of times until he was able to confirm the place where the suspect was making his move, a definite turn, where drivers easily went too wide. They talked with Donovan about setting up a trap. Sherlock and John got into an argument about who should drive the bus, each citing the reasons why the other should not be the one. Donovan listened to them for a while, trying to get a word in edgewise, until she uncrossed her arms, put them on her hips and yelled quite loudly. 

“Listen up you idiots!! Neither of you will be the bus driver!! This is not registry and we are not playing dress up! Nelson here has experience driving buses. He will be the decoy, and if you don’t shut up, both of you, neither of you will be allowed on the bloody bus!! Either you listen to me and follow my plan, or you can go home and fight it out to your heart’s content there!"

John looked outraged: “Oi! Who says we can’t handle a bus! We are MI5 for goodness sake, Donovan!"

“That’s Detective Inspector Donovan to you, Dr Watson, and neither of you have been active MI5 in years. Furthermore, this is my division, my investigation. You can follow directions and stay, or choose not to participate. I will try to go on without you.” As she spoke, Donovan stood tall, smirk on her face.

John turned to Sherlock, astonished, to find the genius was no longer next to him, but sitting on the bench. John stepped towards him. “Did you hear what she said to us?” he asked. 

Before Sherlock said anything, the DI spoke again. “I said it to you, _ Doctor. _Holmes and I know each other well by now.”

Sherlock gave John a slight smirk and a shoulder shrug. “Better listen to her John. She was never going to let me drive anyway. Who would do the investigating? We are the soldiers and she is the General here. If you want to play, you do it her way.” The berk actually smiled at her.

John took a seat next to Sherlock and barely succeeded to not roll his eyes at her. 

********

Sherlock, John and Stewart joined Nelson in a car to first follow the route and familiarize himself with it a bit. Sherlock took the opportunity to look around various bus stops paying attention to the schedules and maps available. Nelson was a patient and friendly man, who knew about Sherlock and was happy to talk with John as the detective “did his thing”. 

In the end, a couple of days later, John had to content himself with Sherlock undercover as a passenger, to observe people who might engage officer Nelson. His presence paid off, as from his seat at the front of the bus, he was able to deduce who the criminal was as soon as he boarded the bus. He texted John, who was with Donovan at the yard. They went directly to the stop that had the sudden curve. Just as described, the ex bus driver came on the bus, wearing his old uniform, and struck up a conversation with Nelson. Stewart, disguised as a college student, playing with his phone, recorded the proceedings. Sherlock, in jeans and a checkered shirt, pretended to read the paper. 

It went like clockwork, Nelson went wide making the curb, Stewart stood, pretending to get ready for the stop, Sherlock put his newspaper down. Nelson stepped on the accelerator, the suspect lost his balance, making a show of his hand slipping off the security bar. Stewart moved forward as Nelson jerked his hand back and slammed the brakes. Stewart called out for the passengers, “Please remain calm, This is a police investigation."

The suspect slipped out of Stewart’s grasp and Sherlock gave chase, having to push out of the crowded front of the bus. They ran right in front of the arriving officers who didn’t know what was going on. John arrived in a police car in time to see the suspect running towards the nearby train station, and Sherlock in close pursuit, gracefully jumping over a bus stop bench and later a higher fence at the station. John ran after them, to see Sherlock pounce on the man like a puma, throw the bigger man on the floor and attempt to handcuff him, but the bigger man rolled around, trying to throw him off, making John think of a totally different situation. By the time Stewart, Donovan and John caught up with them, they had to break through a crowd of people. The suspect had almost taken Sherlock’s shirt off, and had apparently been pulling on his hair, but Sherlock was laughing, and as Stewart properly arrested him, Sherlock sent Donovan an audio file with the man’s confession. 

Avril Lavigne - Hot 

John had watched the whole chase, the jumps, and the grapple. There had been no imminent danger, as Nelson had jerked his hand back before getting injected, and had managed to keep the “weapon”, an impressively modified guitar pick, so the man was unarmed. John was more than a little turned on by the whole thing, especially Sherlock’s disheveled looks and his panting right now. Of course the git would know, as he was talking with Donovan, put his hands on his hips, looked at John smiling and winked. John turned beet red. 

*******

Donovan insisted Sherlock come to the station to sign off the audio file and his name on the paperwork. So he took John with him, all the time with the same saucy little grin, making John just want to tear him apart. He and Donovan were arguing about the suspects mental status, so John went for a cup of coffee, and was detained for a moment by Collins, who every time he saw him, asked if he was going to put the newer cases on the blog, which John had not updated yet. 

John headed back, and had a chance to look at Sherlock, without the man catching him at it. Sherlock was in “disguise”: The wind had done a number on his curls, leaving his shortish hair in disarray. He had a blue checkered lumberjack shirt, the man had pulled open at the top, a white sleeveless vest underneath it, and dark blue jeans, and tan leather boots. Had the man been shopping for this? God he looked hot. As he walked to the office, where Sherlock was looking at something on Donovan’s phone, he noticed that Ed Harris was also there getting an eyeful of his detective. He boldly stepped in and placed his hand on Sherlock's lower back. Clear message. 

“Look John! She is valedictorian! Donovan. Tell her I love what she decided for her hair.” Sherlock was beaming.

John looked at the girl, about 14 years old. She looked tall and thin, and resembled Sally quite a bit. She had left her hair natural, it was riotous in a soft curly nebula. She held her diploma and had a mile long smile. “Malia is beautiful,” he said.

Donovan nodded, but said, “Better yet. She’s smart. And it’s a good head on her shoulders, not just daydreams.”

“Does she have any idea what she wants to study?”

“Forensics. She has the nerves and the brains for it.” She looked at him as if daring him to say otherwise.

“Well congratulations to her and to you.” He said sincerely. “Are we done here then?”

Instead of an answer, Sherlock said goodbye, took his hand and yanked him with him. Down the corridor and up a flight of stairs they went, behind the busy cubicles and offices. They entered a little file room, and Sherlock took out a key and closed the door. There was that little smile again. “Well?”

John looked at him in amazement. “Sherlock?”

“Anything you want?” The Consulting Detective had on his cheeky smirk that said he already knew. Of course he did.

As a response, John walked to him, placed his hand on his neck and pulled him down to kiss him. “Oh, you *magnificent bastard, you wore those jeans on purpose!” 

“Disguise, John.” he smiled, and John wasted no time opening the skin tight jeans up and slipping his hands in to cup his arse, as he kissed that long neck. A small desk would serve them fine. John pushed Sherlock to it and pulled the jeans and pants all the way down.

“So you know what you want?’ Sherlock’s voice was low and rough

“I want to suck you off… so bad,” and without waiting for a response, proceeded. He remembered just how Sherlock liked it, his hand covering the base, lips around the head, tongue playing around it. Then sucking hard enough to wipe the cheeky little smile off his mouth and see him grip the edge of the desk hard, close his eyes and his legs shake with the effort of not groaning out loud. Sherlock almost lost it when John took his bollocks in his mouth one by one, sucking each one and licking at them with a flickering tongue, enjoying how that made Sherlock’s legs tremble. John took his cock in his hand, spreading the precome at the tip with his thumb, making Sherlock gasp and thrust slightly. To tease him a bit longer, John stood up to kiss his neck, and his lips, and to make sure there was no sassy smile left, as he moved his hand up and down Sherlock’s body, pinching a nipple, making circles on his tummy, . He raised Sherlock’s vest and sucked on a nipple, making him yelp, then he went back on his knees to tend to the cock, which looked painfully hard and leaking, and sucked on, playing with the intensity of it until Sherlock could no longer remain quiet, and trying to contain the noise brought tears out of the corners of his tightly shut eyes. John grabbed his lover’s hips and and pulled them towards him, a couple of times. Sherlock moaned, gasped and said “John!” as he came.

When Sherlock appeared to breathe again, he reached for the jeans’ pockets and retrieved a small tube of lube. He slicked his hands and John’s cock with lube. John did not need much, as just grabbing that arse almost threw him over. He did grab Sherlock’s hips with one hand, and teased a nipple with the other which caused a groan, so he kept teasing, causing Sherlock to pull on him harder and John to spill over.

Sherlock shifted a bit, to allow John to lean on the desk. Side by side, their arms touching, they took a minute for their hearts to slow down. Sherlock smiled; “Probability that we were not overheard?” he asked with a sly smile on his lips. 

“ I would say zero to minus five,” John answered, returning Sherlock’s smile and giggling. Rather than walking around looking for something, Sherlock sacrificed his vest, cleaning first John, then himself and not having any other option than binning it in the tiny garbage basket under the desk. 

They fixed their disheveled clothing as best they could. Then he kissed John deeply; “Thank you John.”

“What for, love?” smiled John.

“Ever since we decided to build a new relationship, I have wanted to have a rendezvous with you in a public place. This was even better.” Sherlock said, with a smile.

He took John’s hand and carelessly opened the door, almost hitting D.I. Harris with it. The poor man’s eyes grew wide when he saw them.

“John, people will definitely talk now” said Sherlock, with mock horror. “I certainly hope they do!” John said loudly, “I want everyone to know we belong to one another.” and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, not letting it go.

*******

Slowly, gently, there was a knitting back together, smiles and laughter, shared with Rosie, with Mrs. Hudson. Conversations, deep or funny, consults and company, on cases, evenings as a family at John’s flat, playing monopoly, operation, blackjack. Also movie and karaoke nights, dinners at the Stamfords, outings with Mrs Hudson, small arguments, too.

***********

Visits with Dr. Quentin were down to once every two weeks

“Congratulations are in order! Adopting your little girl is a big step. How are you feeling?”

“Happy about that. We don’t have to worry about being taken away from each other. I now have as many rights as John does over her, even if we do not share DNA.”

“How are things with John? Still dating? Is his behaviour up to your expectations?”

“Yes, and more. I never expected him to allow me to adopt his daughter, much less to be the one to offer it. I thought maybe he was using that to get us back together. It seems it was but part of a deeper purpose.”

“Have you talked about your situation?”

“We have talked about some of the misunderstandings that led to our separation. Some of my behaviours were addressed. John recognized some of his behaviours were not good, and also that he had been surprised when I told him he could go if he wanted to.”

“I still see some doubt in your eyes. Not an easy get together?”

“I’m terribly confused, Dr. Quentin. I confess, that when we started our sessions, I would have jumped into fire to get back with John, no questions asked. I’m very… careful now. At times, I still feel I’m better off without the risk of him leaving again. He did say he would respect my wishes, and go at my pace. He knows I’m very wary of intimacy with him.”

“Sherlock. I believe we have gotten to know each other in these months of intense work. While initially, I believed your relationship with John endangered your *mental health and your independence, I have seen you make great strides in both areas. You have been doing well taking care of yourself, your journals reflect verbal interaction with the people around you and you have been able to take care of your daughter independently, after the time spent at Mycroft’s. I hope you feel you have proven to yourself you did make it through your dark times, as you called them. You did it for yourself and for your daughter, and now there is no doubt she will remain a presence in your life you are responsible for. You no longer need John Watson in your life. This is what is confusing you. You no longer need him, but if you still want him, you can attempt a new relationship. He is right about that, Sherlock. You set the pace.”

“I thank you for saying that, Dr Q, but when I’m with him, when he’s talking to me with that softness in his eyes or he’s touching me, I do feel I need him, and go back to being willing to do anything for him. As it is, we have already had sexual encounters, even though when I think rationally I promise myself I won’t give in.”

“Well, Sherlock, now you are responsible for modeling self worth and positive loving relationships for your daughter. Measure your actions towards one another. Is what’s happening between the two of you something you would want for Rosalie were she in your situation? Does he treat you as you will want Rosalie’s significant other to treat her? The way you are interacting and reacting will be her guide about relationships. You can again use your little girl until being treated loving and respectfully is what you expect for yourself.”

Sherlock liked the way Dr.Quentin explained things. Feelings would always be harder for him to understand than facts, but filtering them through what he would want for Rosie was doable. 

********

“I’m so glad we finally got to get together mate! It’s been a right while!” Greg slapped John’s good shoulder heartily. “Looks like you were trying to scam me out of my pints!”

“Nah, just been busy, with Rosie out for the summer and the private cases plus the ones for Yard. You remember how it is.”

Greg tilted his head and stared at him with a smile, “How’s that going. Himself satisfied with your participation?” eyes twinkling.

“Think so. Not as fast as I used to be, though." John drank some of his beer.

“He’s happy, John. You look pretty good yourself.”

“Yeah. You still visit every week?” John asked, trying to look nonchalant. 

“Yep. We’ve always been friends, you know. Closer when you weren’t around maybe, but then again, our friendships were very different.”

“You talk about the Yard?”

“Yeah some, also about you. Mostly though nowadays, how to get through boring social gatherings, and where Mummy keeps the good liquor. Also how to be in Daddy’s good graces.”

“Yeah it was good to see them. They’re doing well, right?”

“Tough old geezers. Mummy is head first into the wedding shite. Man I never thought it could be so complicated. ‘A small family gathering’ we said. Now, I think the whole English Government is invited! You will be there, right?” Greg complained.

“Hmmm. See, there’s the thing. I’ve been consulting with this hospital in Cheltenham. They are opening a new wing that will be dedicated to service veterans of all armed forces. They’ve been on my case offering me a full time position, given my work with the homeless here. What they’re doing is exciting and innovative and I would like to check it out, but the presentation tour would be the week of your wedding.” John explained

Greg looked concerned. “Cheltenham, John?” That’s two hours on a good day. Twice a day. Have you told Himself? That sounds like “goodbye cases”. Commute is gonna be a bitch.”

“I guess so. I haven’t told Sherlock yet. It’s all so new!”

“It’s gonna be tough. You guys just started up again. Well, he’s been known for being “married to the work”."

“Yeah, but that’s part of what got us in trouble in the first place. I won’t do anything that would affect what we are trying to rebuild. I do want to at least see what they’re up to though. I would love to try to implement it here."

“But you two are doing ok, right? Back together?” Greg wanted to know

John gave him a sly look. “Gonna report to the British Government?”

“Like he don’t know about it. These days he gets it from Himself in the flesh.”

“So brotherly harmony? That’s a good turn up.” John said.

“Yeah, it is, I can have both Holmes in one room. It’s good for short periods of time.”

********

Later that night he texted Sherlock:

  
  


-You’ll be Mycroft’s best man. Will you dress like him? Bet you you’ll wear it better.

-Good evening, back from the pub I see. I will be best man. I will not dress alike. I can't match his awards, having refused the Most Honourable Order of the Bath. SH

-Who’s Greg’s best man. Do you know?

-His older son, Todd. Mycroft managed to either charm Lestrade’s whole family with interesting prospects or threaten them with bodily harm, but they all seem to be supportive of Gavin. Even his ex-wife and her new family have helped with the preparations. SH

-Rosie good today? You ok?

-Yes. Pepsi is here for a sleepover. Anyway, we made shrimp tacos and a box cake for dessert. They played the new version of Dance Party and then they went to Rosie’s room. I think they have fallen asleep, they were giggling earlier. You’re home now? SH

-I’m back at the flat, Sherlock. 

-Very well then. Would you like to meet up tomorrow? We could take the ladies to Speedy’s for breakfast and then to the park. SH

-Sounds good to me. Do you think the Consulting Detective will mind if I sneak you a kiss?

-How about we don’t tell him? See you tomorrow then. Sleep well. SH

-You too, love. Good night.

Sherlock had asked him if he was home. He wanted to tell him he wouldn’t be home until Sherlock took him back. He wondered what would happen if he took a taxi and called from the door. Would Sherlock take him in? Would he take him back home? The thought of their room, their bed wanted to break him. What wouldn’t he give right now for waking up at Baker Street and making tea? For sitting in front of the fire? For sleeping in the bed with Sherlock, and having him stay the night. 

Little bit not good, that idea. Their dates rarely ended up in bed. They sat together on John’s sofa, more often on a spread blanket on the floor, with the sofa as a back rest. There were cuddles and there was snogging. The few times they had started to go further, Sherlock would tense up, and allow John to retreat. Their encounter at the Yard had been an exception. Sherlock was cautious and John could tell he held back as much as he could. He rarely stayed over, and even if they started the night sleeping together on the air mattress, Sherlock was either asleep in the chair in Rosie’s room or most likely gone in the morning. His conversation with Greg came back to him. No. A job outside of London was out of the question. Though maybe, he could convince the group to bring the project to London too. 

*********

It was still strange to wake up with someone beside her. The sun coming through the curtains, the cats stretching out as she got up. She had been so sure they would be a deal breaker. Thankfully, they all seemed to be getting along together. Tesla sleeping in the nook of his arm, her paw possessively on his chest. Toby followed her as she slipped out to the kitchen to start breakfast. He had a preference for kiddie cereal she wanted to improve upon. Molly loved the weekends now, they could stay in late.

She made bacon butties and eggs, and the coffee he liked as he showered. 

“Good morning beautiful… mmm, it certainly smells good here.” Bill said, nuzzling her neck. 

Molly laughed, turned around and gave him a little kiss. “None of that sir, until you have had a proper breakfast.”

He poured out two cups of coffee, making hers the way she liked it. “Is that what girlfriends do? Feed you up?”* 

Molly smiled and moved to feed the cats, “one of the perks. The other one is you get to go on trips with them.”

“Oh really? I had no idea! Where would this trip be to?”

“Sussex, in late August. If you would like to be my plus one. My friend Greg is getting married.”

“The bloke who arrested me when I was a junkie? Well, he didn’t quite arrest me, just detained me in a holding cell and provided me with a hot meal. Who’s he marrying?”

“Mycroft Holmes.”

“Mycroft? Like Sherlock’s brother, the Iceman?”

“I’ve heard he has thawed quite a bit. Want to come? We could dance! And spend the weekend at a beautiful bed and breakfast.”

“Do you really not mind being seen carrying on with the likes of me, little Molly?”

"Not one bit. But if you call me ‘little Molly’ one more time, I will tie you up, and not in a good way.”

“What? Wait, you know a good way?” asked Bill with a raised eyebrow.

“Mr. Wiggins, I know good ways and bad ways to tie a person up. I’ve always been an excellent student and an autodidact.” Molly stated with a smirk.

“Well then, Dr Hooper, I will go anywhere you want me to, and you can show me these good and bad ways you have learned and taught yourself.” They kissed, and soon, Molly was throwing the cats out of the room and closing the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *For this chapter I'm happy to recommend one of my favorite stories (yes I say that about all the ones I recommend, because it's true!) This one is a series, [ Magnificent Bastard! AU ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1061126) by the remarkable [ a_different_equation ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/pseuds/a_different_equation) Check out "Come be my April Fool"  
You can listen to the songs on this playlist; [ Will You Take Me Home? ](www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A medical conference, a bit of a holiday, brings on a special guest star and friend for Sherlock to talk with as John attends his meetings. Once John joins in, some fun at the beach, and an awesome night. Then, well there is a problem. How will it be resolved? Will it be a setback? As our guest talks with John, Mrs Hudson helps Sherlock see the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been blessed with my two beautiful betas, who help me see the errors of my writing (and punctuation), lift my spirits up and spoil me with gifts! See Chapter 7 for [ Loveismyrevolution's ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) gift, a commision by the insanely talented Johix!   
Also, in an upcoming chapter, [ Dovahlock221's ](archiveoorourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) gift will blow your minds.   
These two talented people have been my support and positive force to continue posting this story.   
Thank you all for reading and commenting and continuing this journey with us. We are getting closer lovelies!  


[ DNCE-Cake By The Ocean](https://youtu.be/PAzH-YAIFYc)

“That was - awesome!” Sherlock turned around, surprised, to look at the source of the voice.

He had reluctantly accepted to come to Brighton with John for a weekend conference about the special needs of veterans in their health care. Though Sherlock would have been content to stay home with Watson, she had gone to Cardiff with Harry, for a holiday visit, as school was over. While John had to attend morning conferences, he had promised Sherlock time in the afternoon. Tomorrow evening, Sherlock was his plus one at a formal dinner. Boring, but needs must. John had gotten up and left for conference early, so Sherlock had gone in search of some coffee, only to be caught up in a discussion with a Dr. Colin Fazel, a supervisor at the Research Division of the Psychiatric Department of Oxford University, about how much say should a person be given in their own treatment, when mental illness or PTSD were involved. 

The doctor and Sherlock had completely opposing views, and Sherlock could not help deducing the older man’s reasons, and the older man’s obvious pride of his position and happy to lord it over Sherlock. The detective not only provided plenty of proof to support his point of view in an impressively scientific manner, he also threw in some eye opening deductions. The doctor decided the best tactic was retreat. 

“How did you know about the guilt?” asked the man, extending his hand to him, “Wilson Sternbach.” And Sherlock knew one of those names was a lie. American, 5’9, some 7 years older than Sherlock. Thin, low muscle mass, suffered a major illness a while back. Brown sandy hair, lively brown eyes, nice smile.

“His words were so steadfast, but while he insisted people in the throes of mental illness such as depression -anxiety shouldn’t be allowed to participate in their treatment plan, his eyes kept shifting. The name is Sherlock Holmes.” He had to curb a desire to wink. It would be not good.

“Classic tell! And pleased to meet you,” said the man. He pointed at the coffee machines at the breakfast buffet. “Are you heading for coffee? I’m starving, but nothing in the buffet looks appetizing at all. Any suggestions?”

Sherlock looked at the man’s friendly expression. John would be in conference until after lunch. It was only 9:14 am. The man was not asking him for dinner. This was good, right? He would tell John about it. John would be happy Sherlock made a friend. “Scones!" he said to the man “It’s your first time in England. Taste some decent scones.”

They left the hotel in Wilson’s rental car and found a bakery Sherlock knew.

“Wilson, by any chance, have you ever served in the army?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

Sherlock smiled. “Well, there’s always something.”

They ended up taking in the Brighton sights, with Wilson taking pictures of various places. They talked. Wilson was at a different conference than John. 

“I’m a GP.” (hmm, not the whole truth) “I came to the conference for my hospital in Colombia, but I’ve heard all of it before. I really came to check out England. I want to live in a country that speaks proper English for a change.”

“I’ve been to the States a couple of times, I spent some time in Florida, when I was a young adult and I later went to Texas for a case.”

“A case? You are…”

“A consulting detective. I solve the cases when the police are out of their depth.”

“So you look at the evidence and find the clues other people overlook.” Wilson laughed and shook his head.

Sherlock was perplexed. “I deduce by observation, yes. Why is that funny?”

“It’s just that you already reminded me of my husband. This is rather much though!” The man had a beautiful smile.

“Is your husband a detective also?”

“Of sorts. He is a doctor, a diagnostician. He can find out what ails you and how to treat it when no one else can. I was laughing because he lights up, just like you do, when he gets excited by a case, or talks about his work. He’s really a proper genius, but a holy horror to work with,” smiled Wilson, knowingly.

“You worked together? He was renown. How did you make it work, being a couple?”

“We actually became a couple once he… retired. When I got sick. I had stage 3 cancer. He left everything behind to spend my last months with me. But instead, he cured me. Almost killed me first, but I’ve been in remission for almost 7 years. We have a little boy, Martin, going on 11.Though I like the village we work in, I would love for Martin to have more opportunities.” 

They took in some sights and walked until the boardwalk started filling out with people and Sherlock decided to return to the resort, to wait for John. Once there they went to a restaurant close to the bar and had fizzy drinks.

“Your husband, he was alright with you coming to a conference so far away?” Sherlock asked him.

Wilson smiled and answered, “Like I said, we are looking into places to start over in. He sent me to scout London out. Way too lazy to get his butt on an international flight." Wilson took out his phone. “Here they are,” he showed Sherlock the picture. “He is Howard”

“Your husband looks very much like my father, when he was forty-something. Your boy is adorable. I have a little girl, Rosalie. Here she is with John, my… um, doctor?, ex-partner?, boyfriend?” Even Sherlock looked confused with the explanation, but Wilson only smiled. “Sometimes us doctors are complicated to live with. I went through three marriages, Howard one, before we got together.”

*******

John came out of the tedious luncheon as soon as he could. He went back to the room, thinking maybe Sherlock was there, but he wasn’t. John changed into less formal clothing and texted him. He was at the buffet closest to the far side of the pool, where there were less families around. John hurried over, to find Sherlock was not alone. 

There he was, looking incredibly at ease in a white guayabera and grey shorts and incredibly, loafers. He seemed to be actually eating, some kind of salad and a drink with an umbrella. He was laughing. Sherlock was laughing. The person who made Sherlock laugh was a brown haired, tanned man, a little older than John. He had the same drink and was currently talking with his boyfriend, leaning over towards him to show him something.

Stranger eating at the table with his Sherlock and making him laugh? Not on!! He approached quietly and overheard the conversation:

“So he was named the new witch doctor! And I could see him wanting to take the position, just to spite the older man! The deal breaker was; in order to take the position, he had to marry the oldest available virgen in the clan, to belong to it!”

At this point Sherlock was shaking with big belly laughs. “So what happened then?" 

“Well, here comes this girl, maybe 19 at most, gorgeous, and starts shaking her stuff right in front of Howard’s face! He said ‘No, I can’t I’m already married’ and points to me. The big Chief bellows, ‘You gringos can marry amongst men?’ and How says yes and holds up his ring, and points to me, so I hold mine up, kind of scared we’ll be lynched or something by this hoard of natives. But the Chief just says, and it sounds like he’s sad about it; 'I have a boy too, but he may be too young’ I couldn’t help myself and said: ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t share.’ It was taken as some kind of joke; the whole village started laughing. They started a party and a feast. We were cheered! Several young men came to us to ask how the same sex marriage thing worked. We actually got married in Argentina.” 

John came to them then, saying “Hullo.” and placing a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. The man’s demeanor didn’t change.

Sherlock looked up, “Done for the day?’

“Yes. There is a dinner tonight, but I’m not attending,” stating the decision he just made.

“Good. This is Dr. Wilson Sternbach, from Colombia. He is attending the bacterial/infectious disease conference. He needed some guidance, and well… This is Dr. John Watson, my…”

“His partner,” John said, standing right behind Sherlock’s chair, his hand leaving his shoulder to thread through his curls. Sherlock looked up over his shoulder at him, looked at his expression for a minute, until a small smile curved his lips, and he took John’s hand. “Join us, John, Wilson is talking about his husband and his little boy.” This relieved John somewhat, but he made sure to sit as close as possible to his detective.

Sherlock was quietly amused. How could he have missed how much alike the two men were? As John remembered his manners and talked about his conference, Sherlock observed them. Same size, give or take an inch, similar build, similar expressions around the eyes. They were even wearing similar clothes. While John had a light green shirt and khaki shorts, Wilson had a brighter green polo, and khakis. Now they were companionably talking about the hospitals they worked in and how it ate up time with their kids. 

*********

They said goodbye to Dr. Sternbach, who had late afternoon and evening meetings, and changed for a stroll on the beach. John made sure to hold Sherlock’s hand as they strolled along. “You know…,” he said, as Sherlock looked at the ocean, “I came to the beach one school holiday, for a week or so with some blokes from Uni. We would set up tents in the beach, eat from cans and sing around the campfires, as we drank beer. I have some good memories of it. Did you ever do something like that?”

“Well I did come to the beach with some Uni boys. My roommate and his friends. I got badly sunburned while looking for seashell samples. Also, I had been 4 months sober, unfortunately, a friend of my flatmate thought I needed chemical assistance and slipped me an ecstasy pill. I did not have a good reaction to it.”

John put Sherlock’s hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he ran towards the ocean, pulling him along. “Last one in is a rotten egg!!” said John and ran faster. 

“What are you? Twelve?" asked Sherlock, but he ran behind John, though he let him win. They got to the place behind where the waves broke, and Sherlock played, splashing John, until John went to him, hugged him and kissed him there, mindless of anyone around them. Sherlock stepped back before they got too carried away. 

That night, a soak in the jacuzzi along with some bubbly champagne was in store, along with some footsie. That lead to John confessing to Sherlock he had thought he had looked stunning at breakfast. “I was actually jealous there for a bit, you know.”

Sherlock gave him an apologetic smile. “I saw. I did find Dr. Sternbach less annoying than most. He was kind and funny. I like him. Care to guess the first thing he said to me?’

“No idea.”

“He said 'That was awesome!'”

“Oh yeah? What about this…,” he kissed Sherlock’s neck, “...this is awesome. And this…,” he kissed Sherlock’s clavicle, “is splendid”. “This,” a kiss to his chest, “is wonderful, and this,” a nice hard suck to his left nipple, “is marvelous.” That had Sherlock groaning and gasping “Bed, now!” to a happy John. Ever since they had gotten back together, Sherlock seemed to need to be in charge of the love making, otherwise, he was reluctant to engage. Therefore, John was happy to indulge Sherlock in whatever form of intimacy he had in mind.

**********

The next day, after morning conferences, had John again looking for Sherlock all over the resort. He wasn’t answering his mobile, his messages. John had looked in the buffet, at the pool, now he was looking along the shore. He saw a man raise a hand and walked towards him. It was Wilson. He crouched down, his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. Something had happened. John started running. Sherlock was crouching on the sand next to Wilson. He failed to acknowledge John in any way. Wilson put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and said. “You can call me if you want that ride, alright Sherlock? Just, you’ll have to give me directions as we go.” Sherlock hummed in response.

Wilson looked at John, and his eyes were hard, though his expression was calm. “Good luck, doctor Watson,” he said.

“Sherlock?” John approached slowly, “are you alright?”

“We promised to talk things out, and be truthful to each other. So, no. I am not alright John. I’m done. This is it for me. It is not what I would want for myself or for my daughter. Enough.”

Whatever the cause, other than his red, moist eyes and some color around his nose, Sherlock was projecting his machine persona. John said as evenly as he could, “I don’t know what you mean, love. Please explain.”

“You brought me here under the pretense of a professional interest in the topics presented, related to health services and care for veterans. You said the purpose was purely educational, and a bit of a holiday for the two of us. Somehow, the fact that you are the next Veteran’s Department Director for Cheltenham Hospital, managed to fly out of your brain.” 

“Where did you hear that?” asked John.

“Your soon to be colleague, Colin Fazel, was kind enough to inform me, complete with the fact that you already have a plan for commuting back and forth a week, and staying in Cheltenham for two while only coming to London on the weekends. Since I do not recall talking about this, I must understand I am not a part of this plan. Therefore, my time here is done, and I will be going back home immediately, once I can pack my things.”

John tried to produce a half intelligent response. He tried to keep the panic he felt out of his voice. “Sherlock, Fazel was lying. Remember he was pissed by your deductions yesterday? He heard a rumor, and told you about it to hurt you.”

“That may be, Dr. Watson, however you can not tell me there isn’t some truth to that lie. The position has been offered to you and you have considered it enough to create a commute plan.”

John sighed. They had been doing so well. “Sherlock, yes there has been an offer…,” Sherlock stood up, to start walking. John caught up to pull him by the arm and Sherlock pulled it away, John got in front of him to try to stop him, Sherlock tried to push him aside. ‘He. Can’t. Leave. I. Will. Lose. Him.’ John’s frantic mind screamed. In desperation, he put his heel to Sherlock’s knee, bringing them both to the sandy ground. John tried to hold him down. Sherlock grappled. 

“Please, Sherlock please listen! I will let you go, but please listen first!!” Sherlock let out a frustrated grunt and miraculously, stilled in John’s hands. John kneeled in front of him, still holding his arms. Sherlock’s face was placed in front of John’s, but he wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Good enough’, thought John. 

“I haven’t accepted the offer, love. I had been mulling on it for some time. For me, this opportunity might have been the equivalent of an 8 of a case for you. But the board directors can verify that I have not accepted the position...”

“But you haven’t refused it either,” and he struggled again in John’s arms. But, John noticed, not strong enough to break free.

“I only agreed to consider working with the program so we could open something similar at Barts. It would mean a couple of conferences here and at Coswells. I have no idea where Fazel got the commute plan. I have never even met the man! Please, Sherlock. You and Rosie are the most important people in my life. I would never accept a position that would take me away from you!! Please believe me love,” John could barely contain his panic.

“Yet you kept this to yourself and brought me here to be humiliated by your colleagues.”

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry! I didn’t tell you about the offer because this between us is so new and fragile. We were supposed to be together at the conferences! You would have heard the program description; you would have heard Peters talk about the new ideas for the London area! That is what I would have considered. I would never put a job before our family! This means nothing for me compared to us!”

“Well, your omitting the truth in this case did nothing for us. I did not deserve to be put in the situation I went through. You say you will not take the job. I said, when we first agreed to try again, I would believe your word. But I’m going home. Now.”

“I’ll get our stuff, we’ll go together.”

“No. I can’t think with you panicking next to me. I need to go alone. To think.”

********

So John stayed back for a while, giving Sherlock space to pick up his things, and watching Dr. Sternbach come to take him to the tube. Then he wandered out again, and sat at the seaside, in shock, unable to put his thoughts in order. Sherlock was right, he had not deserved to be told any part of this by someone else. John had been afraid of him taking it badly and look at the results. He should have told Sherlock the whole truth when he was first offered the job. He had not intended to accept it, but to bring it to London. Now, he most probably had undone months of work. 

Dr. Sternbach came back and walked to him again. “Thought maybe you would want to know he was calmer, going into the train. I asked him if he needed some time, or company. He had me go with him to show me how to get the oyster card and how to read the maps. When we said our goodbyes, I asked him what he planned on doing when he got to London. He said he just wanted to get home to his friend?”

“Yeah, she’s our landlady, but more like our adoptive mum. Would you mind telling me what happened?”

“That man Sherlock deduced down yesterday was in the coffee line again today. He actually tried to rile Sherlock up first with tidbits about his own dissertation. When Sherlock didn’t take the bait, the man looked like he had an inspiration, and came closer. He said to Sherlock, “Aren’t you thrilled that Dr. Watson will be the next Director of the new program in the Coswells? The move from London must be thrilling. You will have so much time to rest and relax. And solitude also, seeing as how Watson will be up to his ears in work, with little time left for pretty little things like you.”

“He actually called Sherlock that?”

“Yes. You see, when the man called you ‘the next Director’, you could see the shock in Sherlock’s face. Then he said, “John wouldn’t do that, we live in London.” The asshole saw the look in his eyes and latched on to it. He said you had told him you had been developing a ‘commuting plan’ as a contingency, and explained it. That was when Sherlock just did an about face and hurried away. I ran after him. See, I have a husband who is bound to do stupid things in situations like this, like go fishing for Vicodin. I just wanted to see that Sherlock was safe. Then you came.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Sternbach, for helping him, and for telling me what happened. I neither accepted the position nor have a commute plan. I’m actually going to leave in a while. I do have one thing to tend to. If you are ever in London...”

“Oh, don’t worry, Sherlock already gave me his and your contact numbers. I actually might be coming around to visit London. Well, goodbye John. Don’t let this discourage you. Some people throw majestic sulks. You should see my husband. I love him dearly, though. It looks like Sherlock loves you too, so don’t let him get away.”

***********

John asked around until he knew where to find him. A bunch of doctors drinking mimosas and looking at the pool. John approached them. One of the Coswell doctors was standing next to the man. At one point, he might have mattered, but not now. “John!” Dr. Peters said. “Let me introduce you to Dr. Colin Fazel; one of our researchers…”

“Dr. Watson…,” said Fazel quietly.

“Sherlock said he had met you…,” John said, his tiny rage smile on.

“Ah! Yes, your ‘boyfriend’ has this cute little trick of reading people’s…,” he was interrupted by a forceful left hook that started a nosebleed

“Sherlock is my partner, a genius, and a consulting detective of international fame, not ‘a pretty little thing’ for you to gawk at. Furthermore, you and I have never talked, but you had the nerve to tell him made up stories as if we had. Stay the fuck away from us. Doctor.” Last word said with snide. Then he turned around, met Dr. Peters astounded eyes and calmly said “Good day, doctors. Unfortunately some things have come up and I won’t be attending the gala. Have fun though!”

*********

[ Billie Eilish- Ocean Eyes ](https://youtu.be/-u5gDCNwTiw)

The tube ride was hell. The changing of lines, the people, the noise, the smells. His mood, bad to begin with, was black now. He almost went up the steps, then measured how angry he felt against how stupid he could get, and decided to knock on Mrs. Hudson’s door. 

“Hello sweetheart! Did you… oh my - a domestic then?”

“I am in a right state, Hudson. May I sit on your floor?”

“Of course, dear. Make yourself at home. I’m summer cleaning.” Sherlock took a seat next to her armchair, his shoulders against the arm rest, and hugged his legs, losing himself into thought.

They spent the afternoon together. At first, Mrs Hudson taking things from shelves and cupboards and closets and putting them in two different boxes; donate or trash. Sometimes she took a piece and talked about it, then either put it back or boxed it. When she was done for the day, boxes full, she put on the radio and started singing along. Throughout it all, Sherlock sat, and thought. He half listened at times until the smell made him happy. She was making her extra special cinnamon rolls. Hudders always used real ingredients, not the hateful vanillin, or the ‘sugar cinnamon’. The more the rolls smelled, the more Sherlock came out of his anger, so when the smell of coffee came through, he was ready for it.

“You might want to check your phone, Sweetheart. It’s been non-stop.”

“It’s John. He’s panicking. I’m still thinking about what happened. About what should I do?” 

Mrs. Hudson asked him then, “Do you want to tell me about it, dear?”

So Sherlock told her about the convention and John being at meetings, and he having made a friend. He told her what the Fazel person had said to him and what had happened with John afterwards. Mrs. Hudson fretted with the things on the table, served Sherlock more tea and another cinnamon bun, her version of playing the invisible tambourine. 

“You should forgive him, Sherlock. He was tempted by the offer. He likes the idea of it very much, but he didn’t take it. What he did was have you adopt Rosie. What he did was stop dating other people. He is going to therapy. He is drawing, and exercising, and he has eyes only for you.”

“He kept the offer to himself though. He took me to that conference and let me be humiliated because I had no idea. I wouldn’t want that to ever happen to my daughter.”

“And it won’t. I believe John didn’t want to tell you because he was scared that he had been tempted by the offer. He must have thought you would leave him for considering it.”

“It wouldn’t have been fair of him to ask me to thin my caseload while he accepts a position for a program in a town three hours away.”

“It would not have, but John didn’t accept it. He chose you. John took you with him so you could see for yourself what about it excited him. Did you go with him to the conferences?”

“No, boring.” said Sherlock, looking at the ground.

“I see. More interesting to make new friends and go off to breakfast with them, than go to meetings your partner is interested in.”

“Not good, then?”

“A little not good. And what John did, not telling you about the offer, was a little not good also, but he wasn’t responsible for the actions of that horrible doctor, love. You weren’t either. Don’t throw away your chance with John, now that you are both actually working for it so well.”

*********

Later that night, Sherlock texted John.

-Having fun at the gala? SH

-Hey! Not there. I didn’t stay either. Just took a moment to finish a bit of business.

-Chin, nose or stomach? SH.

…

-You would have done nose. Even if it didn’t break, it would have gushed. Making it satisfactory punishment for ruining our last day. SH

-Yes! You’re right. It did make a nice crunching sound. Sherlock, I’m sorry I didn't tell you.

-Worked through that. It’s alright, John. You decided against it. I was taken by surprise, and reacted badly. I should have stayed. We could have danced. SH

At this, John let out a big breath, and smiled.

-It’s alright, love. We’ll get our dance. Want to come over to the flat tomorrow evening? We can prepare dinner and then take Rosie out for a walk at the park.

-Yes. I’ll take the ingredients and we’ll make the quinoa Buddha bowls and the zucchini fries she likes, you’ll see she knows how to put the ingredients together.

*********

Charlie and Nyla had spent three weeks of her school holidays in the States with Charlie’s family. They had just come back, so Lizbeth, together with Linda Stamford, were taking the girls to the Apollo Victoria to see “Wicked”. John was catching up on work, while Charlie was catching up on chores, such as shopping for food, arranging for laundry service and registering Nyla for daycare, from the comfort of Sherlock’s library computer, where they were talking over the state of their families. While Sherlock told her of his on again status with John and his summer with Rosie, Charlie told him about her visit with her family. They wanted her back. Her old job wanted her back. Her best friend wanted to set her up with an old crush of hers. The only problem was custody with Nyla. Charlie was not about to let her daughter go. Neither was Lizbeth.

“How are the divorce proceedings going?” asked Sherlock.

Charlie snorted. “I think they’re stalled. In the beginning it seemed like I had lawyers on me all the time. Now when I called my ‘barrister’ to ask him what’s going on, he said he hadn’t had any contact with Lizbeth’s guy. Thing is, I kind of want the whole thing to be over now.”

“You’ve given up on Lizbeth then?”

“I guess so. I came to London to live with her. This life, without her, in London, isn’t for me. Once I get divorced, I want to go home. I want to take Nyla. I guess I will have to conform to have her half a year. Ahhh… what a mess Sherlock. If I had known she was going to turn herself over to her family this completely, I wouldn’t have happily agreed to move.”

“Your going away, it didn’t affect Lizbeth? The heart grows fonder and all that?”

“Well, we haven’t had any time alone. I came back pretty clear that I prefer to go back home, than to stay here and be her booty call. I don’t need her games to fuzz up my head. She wants to make her family happy and call me when she misses me, and that is not happening again.”

“Good for you. I wish I had that kind of willpower. “

“What do you mean? John came back to you. You guys are together again, right?”

“Yes, but I find myself still doubting. All of the fighting, the bad times, should we be trying again? He left, but now he says he will stay. If I bring him home, and he leaves again, I just won’t be able to get over it...”

“Sweetie, John realized he made a mistake. He is working, going to therapy, dating you. He made sure you have real rights with Rosie. Looks like he is in it for the long run. And you? You’ve learned a lot too! You know you could find at least a companion, a partner. You have made new friends, you have learned so much about yourself. Now you have your daughter to look out for, too. We parents can do unimaginable things for our kids. I say, if you still truly love your idiot, and he loves you, go for it! Your alternative is either find someone new, or be lonely, while you ‘co-parent’ with the man you really love.”

Sherlock thought Charlie made sense, though he recognized it was what he wanted to hear.

He hadn’t given Lizbeth much thought before, concentrating on his new friendship with Charlie. But listening to her account now, it seemed to him the English woman must have reasons for such an uncharacteristic turnover. He wondered what those reasons could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's inspiration was of course the extraordinarily, awe-inspiring [ fellshish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fellshish/pseuds/fellshish) Her story ["Sherlock Holmes, undercover lover" ](archiveofourown.org/works/14034525/chapters/32324490) is the best and funniest Wilson/Sherlock crossover!  
I must also acknowledge one of my favorite ever beach stories, an outstanding WIP [Noctiluca scintillians](https://archiveorourown.org/works/14431068) by [ alexaprilgarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexaprilgarden/pseuds/alexaprilgarden)  
As always, the music that inspired this monster: ["Will You Take Me Home?"](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e) playlist on YouTube.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are such an important part of life. They listen to us, share our experiences, entertain us, provide us with small mysteries. In this chapter, there is Rosie interacting with her friends, and peers, sharing family experiences. Our men will check in with some of their friends, and we will have a glimpse of the influence they have. Also, one daughter has not been fooled by her new dad's silence about a certain someone, who he shared some time with. John will get a reminder that he is not the only person who knows Sherlock has a very human side to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks are due to my amazing betas [ Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) both of these talented ladies have stories of their own on this same site! Check them out!

[ Friendship Song- Bruno Mars ](https://youtu.be/PVDiQcJwoIQ)

Rosie, Nyla, Pepsi and Mel, had a spectacular evening at the theater. Then, a trip around the city, getting their nails done “Wicked” style. There, they had met a classmate, Alison, out with her mom. They had been invited to join the girls’ playdate at Nyla’s mother’s place, where they would have dinner before Mrs Stamford took them home. 

“So, what was the best about the States?” asked Pepsi.

“Everything!! I think I didn’t notice just how much I missed it! I loved going to my grandparents’ house. That was going back home.”

“Did you see any of your friends?” asked Rosie

“Not my school friends. But my neighbors, yeah. It’s like we were kind of shy with each other. I missed you guys, though. You are the best friends ever.”

“Would you go back and live there, though? After living here?” That was Mel, who really wanted to travel .

“Yeah. You know why? My mom was soo happy! It made me remember how things used to be, before we moved and they separated. Over there, my family is, open, you know. Grandma is happy, she likes to go to cookouts, she goes to dances, Grandpa guides people through the appalachian trails. My Pop has three kids, and they’re my brothers and my baby sis, too. My aunt loves to do my hair and my nails. She made me outfits! We have a big family and Sundays we all get together. Here, it’s each mom on her own, and I always worry about “Mom” when I’m with “Mum”.

“Can I ask something that has nothing to do with traveling?” Alison piped up. “Since you and Rosie are here?”

The three girls looked at each other; “Go ahead”

“How is it to grow up without a dad, Nyla?”

“Who says I grew up without him? I saw my Pop all the time and had sleepovers at his. I was with him when we went to America. We skype all the time. I also have two grandpas, and three uncles on mum’s side.”

“Oh! That’s nice! Do you have a mum, Rosie?”

“Obviously, I had one at a given time as I’m here. She’s dead.” Rosie admitted.

“Sorry, it must be so hard! I don’t know what I would do without my mum! You have your real dad and the detective man, right? People say he’s horrible and mean. Is it true he does experiments in your house?” At this point, Pepsi had wisely come to stand between the two girls, as Watson’s eyes were flaming.

“I don’t miss having a mother, because I have **_two dads_**_._ I’ve had them for as long as I can remember. I also have two grandmas, three aunts, two uncles, a grandpa and the Stamfords, who all take care of me. For your information, Sherlock is my real dad, he adopted me. He is not mean, he’s honest and has no patience for idiots. Not only does he do experiments at home, he includes me so I can learn from them too. And if I have a question, he answers, and if it’s about girly stuff, we look it up until he can answer. I couldn’t do without either of my dads.” Rosie glanced at Pepsi, who nodded briefly.

**********

Charlie had left by the time Linda dropped Rosie off. She said ‘thank you’, and headed to her room to drop things off. Sherlock made tea, black for him, lemongrass for Watson. She came back downstairs and attached like an octopus.

“Say, Watson’ Said Sherlock, holding her.

“I love you. You are my dad. I don’t remember mother. She is dead. I just want you and John, if you could hurry up and get back together, I would be most thankful.” she stated.

“Where did this come from Watson? I am your father by adoption and because I helped your dad raise you. John and I, we- we are sorting things out.” Rosie told him about the conversation at Nyla’s

Sherlock thought about it before talking it over with Watson: “Some people are narrow minded, because they don’t know any better and believe families should be only what they have grown up used to. We have the privilege of knowing that you can choose the people that you love to be your family. I know I can’t be your mother, but as a parent, I strive to do everything possible to care for you, keep you safe, and content and answer your questions. I do believe your classmate was looking for information on a topic she is not knowledgeable about. You did so well talking to me about this. We must communicate to know what is on the other’s mind.” 

Rosie felt better. Sherlock was usually able to calm her. Then she thought of something that had been bothering her for a while.

“Sherlock, you had a boyfriend. I know. And you didn’t tell me. I don’t like that.” Rosie admitted.

Sherlock’s cheeks went slightly pink. “Who was this boyfriend I had?’ he asked, not looking at her.

Rosie gave him an eye roll and an “oh puhleeze” look “Jackson’s grandfather, Luther. Really Sherlock, did you think I wouldn’t know? Jackson was over the moon that you two were ‘friends’, but I saw the both of you. He hugged you and he kissed you on the cheek. I saw it! And when you left with him, you held hands. Now, you are big enough to cross the street by yourself, so it was kind of obvious.” 

Sherlock’s cheeks were positively red now. “I’m sorry, Little Bee. I wanted to tell you, but it was difficult. Luther and I, we weren’t in love. It wasn’t serious dating. It’s not easy for me to explain it to you.”

Rosie thought. “You were not in love with Luther, but you went out with him. Did you kiss?”

“We did. But I knew he would go back to the States  and he knew I have my family here.” Sherlock said, wanting the Earth to open and swallow him whole.

“Are you ‘friends’ with Dad, too?”

“Watson, he and I have something very different from what I had with Luther. When I went with Luther, John and I were broken up. Your Dad, he is my best friend, my conductor of light and - my heart. Believe me I am working to regain the good things we had before.”

“Being a grown-up is horrid. When I fight with Nyla, we can get so angry and scream, but the next day, we talk again and it’s done. Pepsi doesn’t even fight, she just sighs, rolls her eyes and needs some “space”. Sometimes she goes and sits to lunch with someone else. I hate that, but the next day, we talk and we’re ok. You guys separated almost a year ago, and are still sorting it out. Dad loves you Sherlock. He got drunk at Molly’s when you left with Luther. They thought I didn’t notice or understand but I did. I felt a tiny bit mad at you.” Rosie got up and went to brush her teeth, leaving Sherlock to blink the new information in.

********

-Where are you? Went by Baker and then the Yard, and no Consulting Detective.

-Is it lunchtime? I’ve been busy. SH

-Yes, sir, it is lunchtime. We have a lunch date, forgot?

-I did, but you can come to D.I Harris’ office. SH

-I’m getting a cab now.

Sherlock smiled. John always took the tube. He was only hurrying because it was Harris’s office. 

“Hello!” said John cheerfully as he came in and giving Sherlock a slightly longer than appropriate peck on the lips, as Ed Harris rolled his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Well, Donovan was being a pain, something about the Superintendent visiting and kicking out non-personnel people. The one you tripped for calling me an ‘ageing twink’ not the one whose nose you broke. I needed access to police records and registrars, so I came here.” he said.

“Wait, what? You said you were doing your paperwork! Police records? Registrar?” Harris got up off his chair and crossed over towards them.

“Yes Harris, please don’t repeat what I said, it’s downright tedious.” Sherlock repied.

“Yard case or client case?” John wanted to know.

“Mhm, client, though unknowingly” Sherlock said with a grin.

“Wait! You can’t access the registrar! You don’t have the clearance!!” DI Harris was suddenly agitated.

“Of course I don’t! You do, which is why I’m here.” Sherlock gave him his widest fake smile. “Relax, I’m all done.”

“You solved it?” John was amazed.

“Yes, pending interviews. I will appreciate your company, John. The investigated person will not take well to me.”

**********

So they came to be having tea and biscuits at an odd hour, with an acquaintance of John’s, who was very familiar to Rosie.

“Mrs. Wood, always a pleasure.” Sherlock had said, shaking her hand.

“Mr. Holmes, John. Come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked, looking warmly at John, sternly at Sherlock.

“A good friend of mine asked me to investigate a young man called Andrew Beckwith.” Sherlock stressed the name.

Lizbeth gasped, put her hands to her face and half sat, half fell into the armchair behind her. “Oh God! Charlie knows? Sherlock, why are you doing this? Aren’t you back with John? Charlie told me there was nothing between the two of you!”

John looked confused. “Sherlock? What is going on?” His detective was walking around in front of Lizbeth, wearing his annoying, knowing, smirk.

“Lizbeth, it isn’t really Charlie who asked me. The only thing between us is friendship, the understanding that comes from living through similar situations, in this case, still feeling deeply for our exes. I’m conducting this investigation, to help her out.”

“I don’t see how this ‘investigation’ will help Charlie…” Lizbeth had broken into a sweat, she was twisting her hands.

“Maybe she would reconsider moving back to the States, for instance…”

“Wait, Charlie wants to move back? I haven’t even been able to talk to her yet, and you know?” Lizbeth’s voice was raising, and her eyes seemed to flash.

“As I said a friendship born of similar circumstances. She is quite done with London, and with what she considers is you giving in to your family’s every whim. She doesn’t know you have a son.” At this, John wrinkled his brow, and Lizbeth buried her face in her hands.

John moved to comfort her, but Sherlock waved him away. “Lizbeth, your family is not opposed to your marriage. They don’t particularly dislike Charlie, they care more about you leaving London, when you have only just reconnected with Andrew.” Sherlock had stopped circling around and stood in front of Lizbeth

“Andrew Beckwith Sr. died last year. He had the sole custody of his son, who is his sole heir. He received a considerable inheritance, including the man’s make-up business, which is outstandingly lucrative. Andrew Jr. is a smart, bright young man, and a prosperous business man, but he is quite physically compromised by cerebral palsy. He can’t live independently, and although he has professionals that have been taking care of him for a long time, you have been feeling guilty and spending more and more time with him, reconstructing a relationship that dropped off when he was five, and you moved to the States. Lizbeth, those are the facts, right? Why would you think that Charlie, being a nurse, and a mother herself, would fail to accept Andrew, or fail to understand that a young woman felt ill equipped to deal with such a responsibility and moved away?”

It was Lizbeth’s turn to get up and pace; “Because it’s unforgivable! I left my child, my disabled child and ran away to the U.S. I worked at the family business and made quite a lot of money, none that I gave to Andrew. I met Charlie and started falling for her, and couldn’t tell her. We had a baby!! Charlie trusted me enough to have my baby growing inside her, while all the time I’m a woman who abandoned the child that needed her! When we came back I went to see him and that was it. His father had just passed away, he was left in charge of the business and his stress levels were affecting his health, I’ve seen numerous doctors and therapists so they could work with him. Throughout it all, Andy has been nothing but loving and understanding. His dad was 20 years older than me, he died in a car accident. Andy says his dad never spoke badly of me, that he taught him to give me a chance. He even wants to meet Nyla, but I don’t know what to do! I only know I couldn't’ ask Charlie to accept it. I’m not the kind of person she deserves!!”

Sherlock took a seat then; “Lizbeth, would you prefer to let Charlie go back to the States, then? See Nyla six months of each year and Charlie none? She told me a friend of hers connected her to an old flame. You didn’t like it when she went out with me or when she ‘slept over.” He said in a meaningful way.

“As I said, If she will be happi...wait. What did you say, Holmes? You slept with her?-” Lizbeth took two steps towards where the consulting detective sat, and John stood up to block her. Sherlock was draped in the armchair, legs crossed, elbow on the armrest, hand covering a smirk.

“What’s it to you anyway?” Sherlock used his poshest tone. “If you aren’t worthy of her and I am? She’s gone anyway, bound to go home when the divorce is final, free to engage in a sexual relationship with whoever she sees fit, or whoever travels to see her.”

Lizbeth snarled; “You sodding berk! “ John stepped in front of Sherlock, although in all truth, he could have kicked him in the shins himself.

“Lizbeth, what Sherlock is, with such bad taste, trying to convey is how miserable you will be when she actually moves back, close to her family and her old friends, and starts moving on.”

“You should talk to her, sort all this out and allow her to make an informed choice. Don’t let her go thinking these last couple of years, she wasn’t loved.” said Sherlock. "Also, consider Nyla. Doesn’t she have the right to know she has a half-brother? Does Andrew deserve to be kept as a secret? Something to be ashamed of? I am not going to expose you, Lizbeth. It is not my place. Charlie needs answers though. As is, she is stuck thinking you left her because your family hated her and wants you married to a man. She is convinced all those doctors and therapists you have invited to dinner to review Andy’s treatment, were dates. Charlie thinks you stopped loving her because she’s a woman, and you only go to her when you're between men. Does she deserve to think that?” The men left her with that question to ponder.

*********

“What brought all this on, Sherlock?” John asked as they held hands in a cab. 

“Yesterday, when Charlie was over, she talked about Lizbeth’s behavior. It seemed odd to me. Figured there was something I could find out. They should talk. Charlie should know.”

“Well look at you.” John said, looking at him admiringly, “thinking of your friend.” John said, looking at him affectionately.

“Watson loves Nyla. It would be convenient that they stay.” Sherlock looked out the window. 

“I see. Bit not good to insinuate you slept with her, though.”

Sherlock put that little smirk back on; “Insinuate? Lizbeth is not the first person to believe I’ve slept with a woman. John, I have never said ‘I’m not gay’ Instead, I have stated, ‘Girlfriends... No, not really my area.’ I’m not responsible for what other people think, nor for soothing the frayed edges of their imagination.”

That monologue left John somewhat confused and thinking about Adler. She had contacted Sherlock at times. John knew she was living in the USA, doing what, he didn’t know.

“Commerce. Irene is working with money. A business advisor, working exclusively with the top echelon of society. She goes by a different name now.”

“Well her ringtone is still the same.” Huffed John 

“No, it’s not. I changed it years ago.”

“So what is it now?”

“Just default, John.” Sherlock said, looking out the window. John said no more, but wondered about the tons of texts Sherlock received daily.

*******

“Why must it be a dinner ‘party’, John? Why can’t we either go out with her or just each have dinner on our own?” A reluctant Sherlock whined. 

Mrs Hudson said from the back “Now Sherlock, behave. Molly wants her friends over. It’s nice of her to have us! You will be nice to her!”

“Yes mummy” said Sherlock, voice sarcastic, but patting her hand on his shoulder.

After Sherlock paid the cab, he looked around. “Why are we here? This isn’t Molly’s flat.”

John chuckled “it’s a housewarming party, you prat. That means she moved! “ The place they were looking at now was a duplex in a nice, vibrant neighborhood. 

They arrived and Mrs Hudson immediately went into the kitchen to help. The Stamfords were there with the girls, to Rosie’s delight. Some friends from Barts, two men, surely Bill’s friends and a couple who were smiling widely at Sherlock. At first he scowled at them, but after a good look, he recognized them from his homeless network, a long time ago. 

“Hello Sherlock! Great to see you!” The young man said. 

“Dylan, Lidia, you are doing well. You're working together, something artistic.w”

They looked at one another and smiled. “Well, take a guess then” Lidia said. 

“I don’t guess, Lidia, as you well know, I deduce.” Sherlock proceeded to observe the pair attentively. “You have a tattoo parlor. Upscale. Likely close to the theaters. Well established. You have been life and business partners for 3 years or more.”

“How?” Asked Lidia, her eyes shining. 

“Your clothes are dark and edgy, but pricey. Your shoes are high end, Dylan. Your arms have sleeve tattoos. Your haircut is grown-up and very modern. You have higher education, sat at a graphic design class. Lidia, you have tattoos on your forearms, your shoulders and your wrist, which would make it difficult to cover up for a job such as a teacher, a nurse or an office assistant. Your hair and nails are professionally cared for, and you have opted to colour your modern cut with blue tips. It suits you well. You are comfortable around each other and are over the early stage of need to touch in your relationship, and I distinctly remember how artistically talented you are. You have done very well for yourselves.”

“You got all of it Sherlock!” Said Dylan, bumping his fist to Sherlock, who just looked at the hand, nose wrinkled.

Lidia had such a happy expression, her eyes watering up “Oh Sherlock!!” She said as she got up, pull him out of his seat next to John and gave him a hug. Sherlock, after a minute of going flat board stiff with surprise, gingerly patted her on the back. 

John, who had quietly observed it all, felt such warmth and wonder inside for this extraordinary man, a love hardly contained in his chest. His own eyes watered at Sherlock’s blinking expression at Lidia’s hug. He didn’t even realize what he meant to this pair of grown-up street urchins from his Homeless Network

They settled in the backyard, very nicely decorated, there was a little space for an outside grill, a small water decoration, a tasteful path of carved stone and fairy lights strung on the tents. It looked like a garden from a fairy tale. 

Molly was beautiful tonight. She was wearing a red summery pencil dress, with flowers, that livened her eyes. She had kept her short hair, and lightened it. She had been animatedly talking with her Bart’s friends for a while, but now she, Linda Stamford and Mrs. Hudson were setting tables with food, Sherlock had been talking with Dylan. John, Mike and Wiggins came around handing out champagne flutes. John came to sit next to Sherlock. 

Bill stood on a stool and said: “Well mates, listen up. We wanted to thank you all for coming. If you’re here it means we really wanted you to be here, because you are special to Molly, or me, or in some cases, both of us. Just wanted to share our happiness, both for the new place that's actually turned out nice, and also because we found each other, and that, in this day and age, wasn’t very probable.

For that, I have to thank Sherlock Holmes. I’m a graduate of his Homeless Network.” People laughed, but Bill remained serious. “No, it’s true. I didn’t ever aspire to anything much, even though Sherlock saw something in me other than my ability to mix chemicals, and let me hang around him. A little too much, it seems since I ended up with him in Dr. Watson’s car, as he irradiated fury, and ended up at Barts. Now I’m not going into detail, let’s just say that for ‘reasons’ I saw the most astounding thing of my life that day, and it was Dr. Hooper slap the lights out of Sherlock. Things happened to me right then, that hadn’t in a while. I wanted her to slap me.”

Dylan called out “She really should have!!”

“You see, to me it meant she cared for him enough to not want him to throw himself away. It took us both a while, Sherlock and I, to get our heads on straight and find our rightful paths. Sherlock got me into rehab, and arranged a scholarship for my uni bills. He has remained a friend and a support throughout all this time, and was also the one to reintroduce me to Molly. See, I’d ask about her all the time, but never thought she would give me the time of day. Sherlock inadvertently kept pushing us together, and she decided to give me a chance and I’m the happiest I have ever been.

“As am I.” Said Molly. “Please know that I owe a debt of gratitude to each one of you present tonight. This home is a new chapter for us; new neighborhood, new house, new status. Sometime next year, we will make this official. You will be receiving invitations for a ceremony. Now, everyone please raise your glass and help me toast, for I was so lonely, and one came along and turned on the lights that were darkened. Cheers!!”

*******

John looked at his little family, as they were in a cab back home. Mrs Hudson talking animatedly with the cab driver, about ‘herbal’ alternatives to pills for hip problems, the cabbie, responding to her perkily. Rosie, fast asleep, head on his lap, feet on Sherlock’s, his guy sitting so quietly, wide awake, looking out, with his elbow on the window, his fingers bothering his lower lip. As they got near 221, he turned to John “Could I …? John could I …”

“Come back to the flat with us? Of course. Do you need the cab to wait for a while?’ Sherlock nodded yes, John told the cabbie. Mrs H just turned around to say good night, as Rosie was down for the count. Sherlock opened the doors for her, saw her to her flat. 

“Sweetheart, why don’t you just ask him to stay? You have a beautiful home waiting for him.” she said to Sherlock.

He looked at her for a minute. “Not like this. Not yet. I’m not sure yet.”

“And you may never be, love. But he does love you, you know. Don’t waste this, my boy.” 

He gave her arm a little squeeze and kissed her cheek, then flew up the stairs to grab the bag he kept ready.

********

John made tea, as Sherlock put a groggy Rosie to bed, then he heard him in the loo. He came back in pajamas and one of John’s jumpers, put the inflatable bed to fill and turned on the telly. John changed into his pajamas as well and brought the bed things over. Sherlock had been very quiet after the party, overwhelmed perhaps, by the shows of affection, by Dylan and Lidia, by Molly and by Wiggins, who had later, when a little drunk, thanked him loudly, for taking him on as an apprentice, for having faith in him, for paying his way through uni, when he wouldn’t have had any chance of a higher education without it. Bill hugged him and was very emotional, to the point John had thought it best to intervene and call it a night. 

[ Barcelona-Please Don't Go](https://youtu.be/COqx-TCxrSk)

Now, Sherlock was curled up in the small couch, pretending to watch reruns of the The Great British Bake Off, from the time it still had Sue Perkins on, but he wasn’t commenting on any of it. John gave him his tea cup, and sat next to him, promptly getting an armful of Sherlock, his soft curls settling in the space between his shoulder and his neck. John put down his cup, made circles on his chest with one hand, kissed the curls, carded them with the other hand. He thought Sherlock had fallen asleep, but he turned around and asked “bed?”

Once in bed, Sherlock put his head on John’s chest, obviously settling in for a sleepless night. 

“What happened, love?’

“Nothing”.

“It can’t be nothing, if it made you sad. What about tonight made you sad?”

“They are making me look like a good person, John. In reality, I only used them, to gather information, to look for suspects, to keep an eye on you, find out when Molly, or Donovan, or Lestrade left their offices so I could go in. I took advantage of their situations, and they think I...” 

He seemed to run out of steam, or words then.

John raised up on his arm to get a good look at him. “Sherlock Holmes. You gave a group of runaway, unloved youths an opportunity to earn their way through helping you do good in the world. Even if they had other, less good ways to support themselves, the influence you provided made a difference for them. You couldn’t possibly adopt them all. You know what would have happened, had you reported these specific kids to child protection. You gave them food, medical care, you gave them a space to stay when they needed it, Christmas presents, found ways to help pay for the education of the ones that worked for it. 

You don’t think all of those actions show love? You may have never said as much to them, but your affection for Wiggins is clear as day. You even set him up with Molly!! Why? Because you knew it would be the best thing that could happen to him. You don’t abuse your Homeless Network. You make their bad situations a little, or a lot better, you act in favor of them, you care for each one of them. You know them. Where you got the funds for it, the time and the emotional energy, who knows.”

The detective still looked skeptical; “See, you are making it sound like I always focus on them, and it’s not true. I have a scheduled slot to think about their needs and it’s a minimal part of my time, I assure you.

“Well, your ‘minimal time’ has had an effect on their lives. You have made a difference for them, Sherlock, and for Rosalie, and for me, love. You are important, you are loved and cherished. I felt so happy to see them with you, Sherlock.”

John kissed him then, his forehead first, his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, drew circles on his back with loving fingers, Sherlock responded to his kisses, but John could see he was still in a dark headspace. So he flipped them over. This had used to work when they lived together.

“Touch me, Sherlock, start with my face.” For a minute, there was that sad look, but he kneeled up straddling John’s legs, and started touching his face, both hands on his cheeks, his neck.

“Now, touch my chest, make circular movements around my nipples, don’t touch them yet. Three minutes.” Sherlock followed directions, the sad, lost look lifting. John gave him several more directions, which Sherlock carried out. “You are so good to me, Sherlock. Kiss me now, kiss my face, my neck, my mouth.” As he let Sherlock do that, he touched his body, his back, his arms, noticed he was soft, but participating, wholeheartedly.

John turned on his stomach, giving Sherlock full view of his buttocks. “Now massage my thighs. Do you remember the right pressure? Careful with the bad one.” It was a plot, his leg was fine.

“Of course. Lotion?’

“Please.”

Sherlock massaged the thighs and John let his moans and hums of satisfaction out freely. “Oh, love that’s it, you are fantastic. Harder, go harder” John let his voice go rough. “Yeah, oh yeah, bloody lovely” He heard Sherlock laugh.

“Now, the lower back, get your hands in there, the tendons are hard as steel.”

Sherlock kneaded the muscles, and John let out a moan, “oh, you mad man, you’re sodding terrific”

“Now my shoulders, and get closer. It’s so good, you genius. ” 

Sherlock lay his chest over his back and lightly kissed his shoulders. “Oh my god, Sherlock, that is ama- aghh!” John shivered, and Sherlock, kissed his back, as he grabbed his arse, breathing accelerated. He turned John around and kissed him passionately, going down his neck, sucking at his nipples, and John had to work at not being loud enough to wake Rosie. 

Sherlock then slipped on him, aligning their cocks and they rubbed together until the friction was driving John crazy “you-your hand, Sherlock”

Sherlock took them both in his hand and worked in a tight fast motion that finished John off. He let John go before he over sensitized, but stayed where he was for a while, until John caught his breath. Then he lay on his side, next to him, bundled in the sheet.

John took the flannel that he had lay out next to the bed and cleaned himself with it, then went to clean Sherlock’s tummy, but the man wouldn’t let him. “No, I’m fine, I’ll use the toilet later.”

John realized he hadn’t come, and was starting to say something, but Sherlock cut him off. ”It’s alright, John. I just can’t seem to - it will go away”

“No, please, sweetheart, let me help. I’m here with you. I will always be. Let me make you feel good, Sherlock’. He tugged at the sheet, and Sherlock let him take it, still on his side. John took the flannel and cleaned him off carefully. Then he became a big spoon/octopus and tangled Sherlock’s legs with his. He kissed his neck as he carded his hair and pulled it a bit, got one hand under and around to touch his chest and belly, while the other caressed his legs. “I want you to feel loved. I want you to know I’ll stay with you.” He played with his bollocks, talking to him, saying how beautiful he was, how brilliant, then wet his hand and gave Sherlock’s cock the attention it was needing. It was hard and heavy, but not ready to come, while Sherlock’s breathing was fast and shallow and this forehead was sweaty. 

John, however, was a man on a mission, so he moved his detective, got him on his back, positioned himself between his legs and swallowed his length, head bobbing up and down, while Sherlock grabbed his hair and the sheets and shook with the effort of keeping his whining to a minimum. Yes, that was better. He had hardened even more, so John went back to the tip, shoved his fingers rudely into Sherlock’s mouth to wet them, then used them to circle his rim, which by itself almost brought him over the edge, so John wet them again, and introduced a finger, while he took his cock again. He had only to rub at the bottom of the prostate a couple of times before Sherlock came forcefully in John’s mouth. He could barely swallow it all, his nose was runny and his eyes watery, but it was so worth it, to see his partner finally with a small spaced out smile. John reached up and kissed him, before going to the loo to wash up a bit. Then went back into the bed. 

“Do me a favor, sweetheart?”

“Yes, John?’

“Don't go.”

Sherlock settled in John’s arms, head on his good shoulder. “Thank you John.”

“I once told you love, that you are the most human, human being I’ve ever known. You heard me. I meant it then and I still do. Let people love you. You deserve it Sherlock.”

The feeling of Sherlock in his arms, when morning came around, all angles and stolen blankets and legs tangled up with his, made John so happy, tears leaked out of his eyes. He fell back to sleep just looking at him. Rosie woke up later, hearing the absolute silence she got up to investigate. Upon seeing her dads, all tangled up together, she gasped, but quietly got John’s phone and took a picture so he could find it and draw it later. She commandeered some Italian biscuits, cause this was one special occasion, and went back to her room, to call Pepsi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh for a story about Sherlock and a friend (and making John ultra trash can jealous) the oh so riveting [ White Knight ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18719701) by the ultra talented [ DiscordantWords ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscordantWords)  
Another great story is [Sketchy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090850/chapters/2195550) by the extraordinary[ serpentynka ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentynka/pseuds/serpentynka)  
For the playlist, [ "Will You Take Me Home?"](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e) on YouTube. Thank you all for reading!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our men are together, bringing Rosie up, going on dates, exercising, cooking, working together. Navigating the up and downs. There is some interesting history to be unearthed and cleared up. While John heads to a conference, Sherlock and Rosie head to Mycroft and Greg's wedding. There will be some fun during stag night, a repeat of a favorite number, more attention that Sherlock ever wanted and a special guest dancer that will just blow the house down and stir some things up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thanks as always to my wonderful betas [ Dovahlock221 ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [ Loveismyrevolution ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) that read all my stories, and rave about them and love my OC's and want more of them. That give me presents and send me flowers. You guys are my conductors of light and of happiness, and there are not enough words to thank you.  
And to my lovely readers, kudo givers and comment writers, I'm so thankful you are still reading on! You have been through most of the angst, now you will start getting the good stuff! You are cordially invited to the Mystrade Wedding! Come, enjoy the stag night with us too!!

[ Brett Young - Let It Be Mine ](https://youtu.be/UWI-5vlfT6Y)

The next couple of weeks went by in a flurry of activities. John had meetings with the people in charge of the veterans. There was a very important conference coming up, at the same time as the Holmes-Lestrade wedding, and that had been a point of conflict between him and Sherlock. On the other hand, Sherlock left for Scotland for a three day case, following a suspect accused of murdering his wife for the insurance, then hacking the computers to redirect funds from the bank he worked for to an account under what Sherlock deduced was his alias. John thought the fact that Sherlock had not answered his texts had been a revenge for the conferences. Sherlock assured him it wasn’t, the remote village where he had found the guilty party had terrible phone reception. He had shown him a string of unanswered texts from Donovan, Mycroft and Mrs Hudson as well as his. This incident aside, the men continued exercising together, going out with Rosie, and spending time together at John’s flat. 

Dr Ian Quentin was almost giddy with relief to see Sherlock. He looked very well put together, his hair in well taken care of curls, he looked very fit, and was quite talkative. Sherlock had missed a couple of sessions, due to work, making it a month since he had last seen him. Dr Quentin had to admit he had missed his patient.

“So, thanks to your investigation, the two ladies are re-evaluating their relationship?” He sat in his armchair, much like his patient would, legs crossed, hands intertwined at chest level.

Sherlock paced the room. “Yes. We first found out through their girl, Nyla, when she played with Watson at the park. Then Charlie, my friend, told me Lizbeth had come to talk with her. Charlie, Nyla and Andrew have met, and had a very positive start towards a possible relationship.” Charlie had run towards Sherlock, almost knocking him down in her hurry to hug him and thank him. The ladies were still tentative, in the talking stages, but the divorce procedures were in definite hiatus, and there had been conversations that revealed both women were interested in renovating their family.

“Is that what you and John are doing? Renovating?’ asked the therapist. 

Sherlock sat down once again in front of Dr.Q. ”I rather think we tore down our old relationship and are building a new one. In this one, I try my best to communicate. It's still a challenge for us. I was honest with John about the extent of my health issues resulting from the gunshot and the drug use. I hadn’t told him about the recent cardiologist visits. I lay out that it was the one of the reasons why I haven’t dealt with cases over a 6, other than a couple of exceptions. The most important reason is Rosie of course.”

Hearing this filled Dr Quentin with a sense of relief. While John, as a doctor, knew the consequences of a gunshot to the heart like Sherlock’s, the detective had been very careful hiding the full extent of his health issues. Dr.Q had helped him internalize the need to listen to his transport, and delegate the most physical, harder cases to the officers that had not had gunshot wounds, or drug "use" 

“Also, this time around, I notice John is very open about our status. He holds my hand, even kisses me in public and promptly introduces me as his “life partner” to acquaintances, old and new, even though we are not living in the same place.”

“Those are truly positive developments, Sherlock! I take it John has continued with his sessions with Beverly?” 

“Yes. You know Dr.Gates?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“Quite well, lovely, lovely lady” said Dr.Q with a smile.

“Are you still insecure of John’s commitment, or your own perhaps? I believed you were interested in re-establishing your family life, intimacy, and domesticity for Rosalie.” 

“No, I’m not doubtful of either of our intentions. I am merely a bit disappointed. I was ready to make a rather grandiose gesture of asking John to come home after my brother’s wedding. However, due to a conference, John won’t be there. I guess I will just ask him once we are both back to London. There is no way I would want to travel in a week, if they have just moved back home.” 

*******

Greg had asked Sherlock to go with him for his final suit fitting. Mycroft couldn’t leave work, preparing as he was for his absence due to the upcoming honeymoon, so Sherlock couldn’t really say no. He was actually not annoyed that Lestrade had thought of him. 

“Thanks for coming with mate! I have to try on the damn suit and Myc is so picky with the fit, while I would just say ‘OK’ to everything to get it over with!” smiled Lestrade.

“That would never cut with Brother Dear. Luckily, I can tell you what will ‘suit’ him.” 

So they went into the discreet establishment of the Holmes’ exclusive tailor, signore De Luca. Seeing the former SI/DI in the suit Mycroft had picked for him was a revelation. 

“Lestrade, do you remember why I don’t ever call you by your first name?" asked Sherlock as he sat in the armchair, looking up at him with a small grin and sparkling eyes.

“What? Because you are an insufferable dick?” asked Greg with an odd expression.

“No...I figure it’s safe to talk about it now, since you’re marrying my brother. You told me not to call you ‘Greg’. I merely have lived in quiet obedience.”

Greg now looked down at Sherlock, cheeks flushed; “What are you on about?” Lestrade asked, but his eyes said he knew it well.

“It was a lifetime ago and we were different people then. I was a twenty year old junkie, sprouting out a deduction when I was sober, and thrown in jail when I wasn’t, which was often. You told me to be sober in order for you to listen to me, and then I was. Remember you used to feed me and let me kip on your sofa?”

“You were a kid, Sherlock, I hated that you lived on the streets. Yeah, I used to take you in.”

“You were living in that tiny bedsit, wanting to save your sham of a marriage. I took to just going in, unannounced. You usually didn’t protest, just ordered food and watched telly while I used your facilities.”

“Yeah, I remember, you picked my locks, took my badge, my food, but never my money…”

“I was scared, and lonely. You were kind and quite handsome. I felt very attracted to you and threw myself at you one night…”

“Oh God!! Sherlock!! “ protested Greg.

“I told you I wanted to be with you. You reminded me you were married and you lied that you were straight. I begged you: ‘Greg, Greg, please’ and you said…”

“Don’t call me Greg, don’t you ever call me Greg. I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade to the likes of you.’ Yeah, I remember. You ran off. I felt like an arse for saying it like that mate. Especially since you disappeared after. I even hoped you’d been high and forgot it. You came back after rehab sober, changed, distant. But Sherlock, I...couldn’t. From the moment we met, I felt protective of you. I saw you as a youth that had no one to take care of him. I couldn’t have done any of that with you.”

“It’s alright Lestrade. I was crushed for a bit I’ll admit it, but I got sober, and we started collaborating. Eventually, I met John, and that was it. I just want to know; can I call you Greg now?” asked Sherlock." grinning.

Greg laughed, “Come have a pint with me and I’ll consider it you bastard!”

At the pub, they talked about Donovan, and how good she actually turned out to be. Greg was quite proud of her. He had a different impression on Harris, thinking the younger D.I. was smarter than what Sherlock gave him credit for. “I’ve had a chance to observe him, while I hung out with Donovan a while ago. Kept an eye on him, since you told me about how you two got on. I have to say he seemed like a right bloke to me. He has great instincts, and knows procedures by heart. He does have quite a crush on you, though. Donovan knows it too. That’s probably why the poor bugger can’t find his feet when you’re around.”

“Mmh, it would have never worked out with him. I wanted to ask you, will you two be going to Nice with the parents and Harry and Meghan? Mum is insisting I accompany them with Rosalie.”

“We will but only for the weekend. Myc has lots of loose ends to tie before we travel, in a couple of weeks. So, John is definitely not coming?"

“No. As a matter of fact, he is leaving the day after tomorrow. He talked about meeting us in Nice, but I have to say, I’m not in the mood to go.”

“Ah, mate. I’m thankful Myc and I waited this long to sort ourselves out. Had it happened when I was still in the Yard, we wouldn’t have lasted. As is, I’m retired, and I can follow him around.”

“While I must admit I have by force gotten used to lower cases and cold cases. I still can’t see myself retired, waiting for John to go back and forth from Coswell."  
  
“He told me he wouldn’t be traveling, Sherlock. After the conferences, he’ll be home based. Brighten up, mate! He wants to be with you.”

******

“So, Rosie’s dress is here. The headpiece in the box. Check that you are taking her shoes. It cost us blood, sweat and tears to find the precise color that did not hurt Herself’s precious ankles. I made Rosie’s bag for Nice. You don’t forget your beach things. I will catch up.” He looked at his detective, who wasn’t sulking, or pouting, or fighting. Instead, he was a little pale, and looked a lot unhappy. “Sherlock?"

“Yes, yes John, I got this, Watson ahoy, all the things, everything, except my dancing partner. Why did Mycroft make me best man? I think the speech I came up with is ridiculous. What am I to say about Mycroft, anyway? ‘To my brother, the annoying Queen of Everything. May his marriage be long and happy so he stays out of my personal life?”

“Sherlock, your speech is fine. You will do great, just lay off on the name calling, it’s the man’s wedding. Remember, your parents will be there. It’s kind of their day, too. Just take plenty of pictures.”

“I personally investigated the photographer who will be at the ceremony and the reception. There will be no surprises at this wedding!”

“So it will be boring, is what you’re saying?” asked John, but the look Sherlock gave him showed him he was not forgiven for not going.

*******

The wedding guests were staying at Castle Goring, which Mummy and Anthea had succeeded at by cashing in every favor generations of Holmes in the English Government had ever been owed since such government had been established. Anthea together with Harry and Meghan Watson worked as a team, forcefully dedicated to supervise the final touches at the venue. Sherlock couldn’t help feeling grateful, as he was left only with entertaining Watson and the Lestrades, who were spending the day with Mummy.

Greg’s three children were to participate in the ceremony; his two boys, standing at his side, Todd, the best man, Mack’s little boy carrying the rings. Tara, who had danced with Sherlock at Greg’s retirement party, would be the one giving him away, Mummy would do for Mycroft. Sherlock showed them around the estate, sharing stories about his working relationship with Lestrade and the antics he had witnessed at the Yard. Tara wanted to know about cases Lestrade had actually solved, and Sherlock was able to cite quite a few, plus some where they had collaborated closely, to pass the time. In all, by the time he brought them back to the main house, Greg and Mycroft were there and he happily passed the Lestrades on. Then, he went to take a look at the bees with Watson. 

In the evening there was a formal dinner, hosted by the Holmes for the guests. Sherlock kept a low profile, sitting with Harry and Meghan, avoiding most of the out-of- town Holmes’ extended family. The following day, the wedding participants had to rehearse, while the rest of the guests enjoyed different activities at the Castle grounds. Watson’s antics, making faces at her father, throwing fake rose petals at Pepsi, and giggling inappropriately, helped him get through. 

Sherlock hadn’t had a chance to look at his phone all day. Even when he felt it buzzing, even when he sat by himself, on the Castle steps, discreetly smoking, he didn’t have the strength to read John’s texts and send back cheery replies. He felt lonely and abandoned in the sudden onslaught of couples present. Was he supposed to ask John how the conference that was keeping him away was going? What about when John asked how he was feeling?

He felt his phone buzzing again as he got Watson ready to leave. He ignored it. He did see Greg pick up his phone, not five minutes later, and was intrigued by the shark-like smile and the laughter that ensued. He shared whatever it was with Mycroft, who tried to look bored, and rolled his eyes, but for some reason shot him a quick look, smiled and shook his head.

Even though Sherlock was down in the dumps, he did look forward to the grooms’ night. If only to show Mycroft the “bloke with the brolly” performance, he had personally hired for the event. Mack, Lestrade’s youngest, had been on board with the idea. So with Rosie, Pepsi and Mel safely tucked in for the night at mummy’s, Sherlock joined the Stamfords, Harry and Meghan, Billy and Molly, Donovan and her date, Anthea and the younger Lestrades for the meetup at the local bar turned disco thanks to Anthea’s persistence and the government’s financial encouragement..

The bar pushed the show for rather early in the evening, but it was fine nonetheless. Mycroft’s face, when he saw the young redhead, was simply priceless. The young man had no doubt perfected his act. His tease dance to a remix of “Crazy in Love” was admirable and managed to lift even Sherlock’s spirits. His main act, of course, was the sketch with the umbrella to Rihanna’s “Umbrella”. Greg was thoroughly enjoying Mycroft’s open mouthed astonishment when he saw the auburn haired dancer in the black corset and high heels. Sherlock was happy seeing Mycroft laugh and applaud, just let go and enjoy himself. After it was done, the floor opened for dancing, starting with the grooms, who danced well together. 

“I love this act.” Sherlock heard a voice next to him. The young redhead was now sitting next to him at the bar, watching the dancers. “I’m Hal. I believe you asked my agency for me specifically, Mr. Holmes.”

“Sherlock, please. Yes, your performance at his retirement was quite entertaining.” said Sherlock pointing at Greg. He turned and told the bartender to give Hal his drink of choice.

“Yes, I remember. I was asked to do something with an umbrella and I found out you were the client. I’m happy you liked it. I’ve been working on it ever since.”

“It definitely made a great impression on Greg. I wanted my brother to see you.” said Sherlock, still looking mostly at Mycroft, and now also at Bill and Molly.

“I had been hoping I had made an impression on you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned and looked at Hal. The dancer was looking at him, looking at his lips. The younger man put a finger on Sherlock’s hand that was holding a glass. Hal stroked Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock froze. 

“I wonder, would you like to dance? Here?” Hal gave him a once over. Sherlock looked at him, then looked out at the dance floor. Lestrade was trying to catch his eye, and when he did, he sternly moved his head “No!”

“I’m afraid I tend to look for dance partners closer to my own age, Hal, though I’m flattered.”

The young man, Hal, came to stand in front of him and touched his legs with one of his, put a hand on Sherlock’s thigh, “I don’t think our age difference would be any problem at all. You are so hot, Daddy.”

Sherlock blinked, and blinked. Daddy? To a young man like Hal? He did the math in his head. Goodness! He could be this young man’s father! Before he could think of anything to say, or even process that Hal was in his personal space, he felt a force yank Hal away. 

“Hands off, buster. He is way out of your league!!” Harry had actually grabbed him and thrown him off. “This git is married.” and she stood in front of Sherlock, hands on her hips. 

Hal actually stood his ground and said “To you? Not a chance, lady!”

Harry took a step forward. “No, you idiot, not to me. To my brother, Captain John Watson. You do not want to be caught flirting with his husband. Scat, sweetie.” Sherlock had stood up and was looking at her with some amusement. 

“Harry?” he started.

“Oh save it genius.” she said, walking away; “You’ll be thanking me soon enough,”

Greg and Mycroft came to sit next to him and have a drink. “So, are you going ‘Under the umbrella?” laughed Greg.

“I don’t understand how referring to someone being old enough to be your parent is in any way considered an effective motivator to get that someone to dance.” grumped Sherlock. Mycroft laughed until tears came out of his eyes. Greg, took a little longer to get it. 

[Jonas Brother - What A Man Gotta Do ](https://youtu.be/XejVB_fba04)

Now a group settled in to take over the music. They had been hired by Tara. A cover group exclusively of gay men, The River Band, they took popular songs old and new and played with the pronouns and the lyrics. They played a medley of songs Sherlock knew - from the disco. The dance floor was cleared. Sherlock looked around. He turned to Harry “Is there another act?” 

She was trying to contain a smile; “Oh yes there is, you poor bastard. Look up now, pay attention.”

“Sorry, Not Sorry” started playing. A dancer, in slim black slacks and a shiny green emerald slim shirt, groomed to perfection, danced to the spotlight in the middle. “See the grass is greener under me, brightest technicolor, the best that you can see.” Sherlock would know him anywhere. With a smile that brightened the whole bar, his John was putting himself front and center. The song changed into “What a Man’s Gotta Do”. John showed off dance moves and just gave the people a show. Everyone stood up and whistled, sang along, yelled and clapped. Greg came over, with a huge smile on his face and a shot of tequila. He handed it to Sherlock, who had a totally dazed look on his face. “Hey!...” said Greg, handing him the drink.”Bottoms up!” Sherlock obeyed. On the dance floor, John held out his hands to him.

“I would like to ask the love of my life to get his beautiful arse up here with me!!”

Sherlock looked at Greg, blinking.

“Ah ah - no time for that now. Go get him, tiger!!”

As Sherlock approached, John pulled him in for a quick kiss, and lead vocalist sang:

_  
I'm not tryna be your part-time lover_

_ Sign me up for that full-time_

_I'm yours, I'm yours_

_ So what a man gotta do? _

_ What a man gotta do? _

_ To be totally locked up by you _

_ What a man gotta say? _

_ What a man gotta pray? _

_ To be your last "Goodnight" and your first "Good day?” _

********

They danced and laughed together. The next song was a slightly modified version of Ed Sheeran’s Perfect, and everyone was invited back on the dance floor.

Dancing this song with Sherlock, in front of all their friends, in this place, filled John with a happiness he had forgotten he could feel. He had felt it the first time he saw Sherlock asleep on the sofa, with a tiny Rosie in his arms, also asleep. He had felt it the first morning he woke up next to Sherlock. And now, at Sherlock’s still dazed eyes, and how he couldn’t look away from John and how his breath hitched a little, with the tiniest of smiles threatening to break through, he was certain they belonged together. At the end of the song, John pulled Sherlock with him, hugged Greg and waved goodbye to everyone else. 

Once outside, he placed Sherlock next to him in the car and started off. “The conference?” 

“Doing just fine without me. I have missed way too many dances with you.”

Sherlock smiled and said no more during the ride to the castle.

******

John had done the check in, so all they had to do was go to the room. 

“John?” Sherlock looked into his eyes as John came close to kiss him. Expecting some words, for once.

“I didn’t want to spoil this.” he said, showing the two of them with his hand. “I didn’t ever mean to stay at the conference, to miss the wedding. What I want is to dance with you. I want you to…” His words got lost in his nerves, as he tried to swallow the knot in his throat and his eyes moistened up.

“Say. Whatever it may be, it's fine.” whispered Sherlock

John put his forehead to Sherlock’s chest. He grabbed on to the flaps of his jacket. Deep breath in, he asked without looking up, “Please Sherlock, will you take me back? Will you - Will you take me home?”

The goosebumps that raised on his skin surprised Sherlock. John had asked two questions, and his body reacted immediately. He compared his body’s visceral response to Rosie’s dancing and yelling pleasure at getting a bicycle for Christmas when she had been five. Sherlock took John’s face in his hands, had him look up. He knew the affection he felt would be plain in his eyes. “You went away once and had a wife, a house, a family. Then you came back to me. You left me again, saying you couldn’t handle me anymore, that we were done for good, but now you’re coming back to me once more. I let you go. I let you be free. I’ve let you look for the life that would make you happy. You are choosing to come back home because you are mine. Mine.”

******

[Little Big Town - Next To You](https://youtu.be/CkZdKLLmpcY)

“Always Sherlock” John pulled him in for a kiss, surprisingly gentle. He tried to open Sherlock’s belt, the trousers. Sherlock’s hand stopped him. 

“At ease, Captain. This mission is not yours to command. Shower.” he said, assertive yes, but kind.

Sherlock stepped in the enormous shower with him. His face serious, his cock half hard. John could not stop smiling, he was painfully hard, mind addled with lust. He immediately tried to pull Sherlock into an embrace, but he said, “John, let's savor this night” and John stopped himself. “Not here. I have other ideas.”

So John stayed still as Sherlock washed both their bodies. Sherlock seemed to be holding himself back, John however, could see the emotion in his eyes and the slight tremble in his hands. That made him want his detective even more.

Once dried and back in the room, Sherlock had John stand up in front of the bed. Looked at him. John found his concentrated gaze exhilarating. He could see the detective fast at work. 

Sherlock took his hands. “You have been writing - no, you write on your phone, why would you write with your hands, your handwriting is abysmal. You have been drawing. Interesting.” Sherlock’s intense gaze examined John’s head, his hair. "You settled back into an earlier haircut, to show off the nape of your neck when you decided you wanted me back. Your women have left you mostly unmarked, or you have been celibate long enough for the last marks to fade away. I must remind you, John, your continental wandering days are done once you come home. No more women. I do not share.”

Then Sherlock put his hands in John’s hair and pulled his head towards him, kissed him, a lustful, hot joining of lips, with Sherlock’s tongue parting his lips, his hand at the nape of the doctor’s neck. He sucked at the jawline, and the neck, where he placed a small, hard bite. Sherlock turned John around, his hands on John’s shoulders, all over his chest and his belly, fingers in his belly button making him laugh. Then his hands went to the ribs, and the hips. 

******

Sherlock needed to keep a tight grip on his emotions. The events of this night, had left his feelings heightened and raw. If he abandoned himself to John’s will, they would all tumble out and their night would be over too soon. So he took John to bed, asked him to lay in the center. Their few sex encounters since their reunion had not been favourable to full nakedness, and during their sport “dates” they had always been fully dressed. It had been a while since they saw each other naked, not hidden under the covers. Even now Sherlock forced himself to focus on each body part, instead of trying to process the whole of John’s body. Now he focused on his scar. “_ How I’ve missed you.” h _ e whispered, in French, so John wouldn’t understand. He kissed it. “ _ They didn’t kiss you, did they?” _ he murmured in Spanish, his tongue roamed around its star like geography. “ _ You are all mine. You brought him to me.” _This was in German. 

******

John understood Sherlock’s need to take over. His focus on his scar. His madman knew, no one else would kiss it, even if they had wanted to, John would have not allowed it. He knew that Sherlock did not want his emotion acknowledged, not now. So John lay on the bed, reaching out to hold on to his arm, or touch a rib, or stroke his head or shoulder what he could reach, as Sherlock journeyed down his body with kisses. His scar got the gentle, tender affection that turned hotter as he traveled further south.

“You’ve come back to me John. You are sure?” His voice was low and rough.

“Yes of course love, I’ve wanted to for a long time.” John’s voice was not steady either.

John’s body tingled when Sherlock pulled him up on his knees on the bed, facing away from him. Sherlock got close and John could feel his hardness. Now he was using his nails and the tips of his fingers to wake John’s skin up. He tickled his back, his chest, his tummy. It was working, John found it so arousing he was having trouble concentrating. Already painfully hard, his cock was continuously leaking. He felt some movement, Sherlock getting lube and wipes, perhaps. He waited with his hands on the wall, and Sherlock positioned himself behind him, pulling his back against his chest, his hand stroking John’s cock, making John moan. Then he cupped the bullocks and placed a line of kisses down John’s back

“What is it you want, John?”

“Anything, as long as it’s with you,” said John

“Are you sure about that?"

******

Sherlock then put John’s hands against the wall and asked him to raise himself on his knees, legs open. Then parted John’s cheeks and licked down the stripe of the part, wetting around the ring of tissue, making John yelp first, out of surprise, and then moan, loudly. Sherlock laved up and down the puckered skin, wetting it completely and teasing the entrance with the tip of his tongue, while his love made the most beautiful sounds. Sherlock had to will himself to calm down, to be able to continue. He touched John’s legs, his chest, his nipples, his hand slowly stroking over the sensitized skin, then came back to his task and circled the rim again, picking up the pace and pushing his tongue in, making John shout. He set up a quick, forceful pace, and slapped John’s hand away, when he went to touch his own cock. When he had done all the opening that could be done in this fashion, he moved out, not before smacking a kiss there, and lubed his fingers. John was tight, and very willing. One finger went in, while the other hand played with his balls again, the next finger went it with more lube, and soon John was fucking himself against Sherlock’s fingers. Sherlock took a moment, to give himself a couple of strokes, and lube up. He positioned himself and pushed in gently, without stopping until he was fully inside. Oh, John was so tight. 

This felt too good. His body was riddled with desire, his emotions were a whirlwind inside of him. How could he have thought he could live without John. His home, his partner, his heart. Once in, he stayed as still as he could, bringing John’s back to his chest again, and slowly beginning to gently move within him, until John moaned. “Go ahead, Sherlock, God, just do it.”

Sherlock then pulled back almost all the way out. Then forcefully back in. He did that for a couple of times, then changed the rhythm to a more shallow penetration, then back to the deep ones. 

“Oh Sherlock- how? I, please!”

So Sherlock took John’s cock and stroked it at the same rhythm he fucked him to. When he felt John close, he positioned himself to rub John’s prostate. John cursed loudly. He was so revved up, he didn’t take long. Soon he was coming like a freight train, while his muscles contracted around Sherlock, who also came quickly, although not quietly, calling out John’s name. 

He went to the loo and as he cleaned his teeth, the idea of finally calling out John’s name while actually with John made him laugh. He was trying to control it as he brought wipes and a towel over to clean John, who seemed blissfully passed out. Sherlock cleaned him up, disposed of the waste, brought over two glasses of water. Then he went back to bed, took off the dirtied sheets and covered them up with the cover. John cuddled up on Sherlock’s chest.

“That was incredible and so hot!!” said John. “Sherlock, you have done so much to get us to this point. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, love”

I’m sorry I have taken so long. I wanted to invite you home this weekend, but had resigned myself it wouldn’t happen due to the conference.”

“Nah, you are only taking me home now because of the dance,” John teased. “I knew there was no way you were going to resist that blatant display of sheer sexiness.” He winked at Sherlock and they laughed together.

"You are very sexy, Doctor Watson.” Sherlock said and kissed him again, John settling in on Sherlock’s chest, both men falling asleep in the comfort of each other’s arms.

***********

They overslept the next morning, Sherlock hurried to the shower, to try to make it to breakfast at Mummy’s, but while he was there, John joined him, intent in showing him his dance moves, obviously in a state of undress, also insisting that he barely remembered the events of the night before and needed a redo, if Sherlock could for once forget his dislike of repeating himself. Sherlock was feeling amicable due to his brother’s wedding and happily provided an encore.

Once at the Holmes’ place, Mummy’s upset face changed instantly as she saw who Sherlock came in with. John decidedly hugging Sherlock loosely, his hand on his back. Rosie, who had been worried Sherlock had gone to the hotel room to mope alone, brightened up seeing her two fathers walking in together, she ran to hug John. “You made it! You’re staying for the wedding, right?”

“Of course I will sweetheart! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” and when he looked up and saw his family smiling, John knew that was well worth sacrificing the conference for being with them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently reread this beautiful and moving story [ Repairing the Broken Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15673239) by BakerTumblings.  
The music that inspires and accompanies this story can be found in the [ "Will You Take Me Home?" ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e) playlist on YouTube


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mystrade wedding! There are pictures (no murderous photographers), dances, and happiness! and JOHN GOES HOME!! He finally gets to see his beloved 221B, and discover why Sherlock never invited him in. The men have worked on their challenges, and built up their relationship. Now everything should be happy and easy, smooth ride to the end, right? Read on so you can enjoy the jewel hidden in the middle of the chapter courtesy of Dovahlock221! You have read and suffered and laughed with the men during their worst times, so now you get to enjoy this chapter! Cheers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a very lucky fandom mom, starting with my two magnificent Betas, who have uplifted me and supporting my writing efforts. They are such lovely and talented ladies, who are also much more generous than I deserve. You may have seen the beautiful work of art by Johix that [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) so kindly gifted me, and I proudly display in Chapter 7. Today, I will share a present that [ Dovahlock221 ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovah221) made for this story when I wrote the ending, long before I decided to post it! I am so grateful to the fandom that put me in the path of these two beautiful souls. They have kept me going these last months.  
As have you dear readers, kudo givers, commentors, interaction with you lights up my days! Thanks for reading along, suffering with Sherlock, cheering Rosie on, having faith in John! Good things are coming! Time to enjoy them!
> 
> Dear Readers, beware! The New 221B requires lots of creative license! I took many liberties with space and major renovation times.

The day was a sunny, happy day. The closest of friends and family spent the day with the grooms at the Holmes’s. Harry and Meghan had prepared a karaoke game, in which Sherlock refused to participate, but John did pretty well, although the winner was Mack, with a surprisingly emotional rendition of “Hallelujah”. The grooms had hired ponies and horses for riding. They had a light lunch and then it was time to start getting ready for the wedding. 

Tara Lestrade looked absolutely stunning. She, her brothers and her dad left in a limousine with Harry and Clara, and the girls. A very nervous Mycroft, the parents, John and Sherlock and Anthea went in another. 

Although there was a perfectly able photographer, who had no intentions of murdering anyone, John took his own pictures. One was of Harry showing mummy Holmes a dance move. One was of Greg sitting next to his ex-wife, on the stairs of the castle, looking at the ushers place the seats for the ceremony. One was of Rosie, looking up at Mel, as she put her hair up, with a look of total admiration. His favorite was of the brother’s Holmes, Mycroft standing in his usual rod-straight stance, as Sherlock fixed his tie for him. The brothers were deep in conversation, looking at each other, for once, true affection shining through.

[ Moon River by Frank Sinatra ](https://youtu.be/aGCEH6hpl-Y)

The musicians started to set up, and John noticed the singer, looking at Sherlock. Of course, who could blame him. The fellow was in his mid twenties at most, tall, kind of lanky, wavy dark brown hair, full lips, green eyes. He had a Spanish look about him, decidedly a handsome bloke. John hoped he didn’t have to stop the lad from flirting with his partner. The guests started arriving and the minister also, which prompted the band to start the music. One of the members of the band played the violin, well, though he was no Sherlock. 

Instead of the wedding march, the band played “Moon River”, the singer gave a heartfelt rendition, as the grooms walked down the aisle, Mycroft on mummy’s arm first, they stood at the edge of the aisle, until Greg came next, accompanied by his daughter. Mycroft kissed mum on the cheek, Greg kissed Tara‘s hand, then they faced each other, held hands and the ceremony began.

The minister gave a non-secular sermon about the joys and responsibilities of matrimony. He spoke clearly and was jovial and concise. Greg’s vows were spoken in his clear, friendly voice, promising to take care of his husband, let him bounce ideas off him and follow him to the ends of the Earth. Mycroft got surprisingly sentimental and vowed not to let his husband doubt how much he had changed his life and would never leave him behind because of work.

At the reception, Sherlock gave his best man speech and John couldn’t help but noticing the difference from the last time he had such a task. Sherlock was happy. It was noticeable in his eyes, his looks for the grooms, his rare smiles. He spoke about Lestrade, how much he had helped Sherlock when he had been a lost, confused young man, and how, in spite of Sherlock’s temper, he had remained a true friend.

He also spoke of Mycroft, as his first friend and magnificent archenemy and how much of an influence he had been in his life when going through school problems. He said, in spite of the usual older/younger brother dynamic, Mycroft had always been willing to help and protect Sherlock and the ones he loved. He couldn’t resist some funny stories, but they were in good taste. Finally, he invited everyone to stand and toast for the grooms, then entered the reception as second dancer, with mummy after the grooms had the first dance.

John and Sherlock danced. The dance music was followed by slower songs. They danced a lovely, slower version of Jame Blunt’s Bonfire Heart, interpreted by the Rivers lad, before they broke for some drinks. As John caught up with Harry and the other wedding guests, Sherlock sat next to Bill and Molly, until they went dancing again.

Sherlock stepped away from the music to have a forbidden cigarette. He saw another smoker, and was about to move away, but: 

“Mr. Holmes! Hello! Could I talk to you a minute?” It was the singer of the band.

“Is this about a case, Mr….” Sherlock did not want a repeat of the Hal situation.

“Of sorts, I suppose. I’m Quincy Rivers. I’m a fan of you and doctor Watson. My friends and I have a youtube channel, and therefore, always stay on top of the headlines. You and Dr. Watson separated last year.”

“Always nice to make the headlines. Get to your point." Sherlock was actually making an effort to not be rude.

“I- I see you are together again. I have to ask,” the young man took a deep breath. “I recently - spent some time with somebody from my past. The person I have loved the most. He was my best friend since I was ten, we were lovers for a year. Seeing him again- It was fantastic, and he wanted me to stay, but I have my work and my life in a different country than his. I went through hell to get to where I am now. I’m so confused. He was married to a woman. He’s divorced now and swears that he never stopped loving me. He hurt me so badly though. I don’t know, how do you trust a person after that?”

“Quincy, you said. I am the worst person to ask about these things.” The boy’s eyes dropped to the floor. “But since you made the effort of putting it in words, I will do the best I can. John and I have hurt each other time and again. I left for two years, he got married, then once we were in a relationship, he left. I too was confused, and found it hard to trust his intentions. In our case, we both seeked professional help. I have seen him working on resolving challenging perceptions. Furthermore, Joaquin, I tried to be with someone else. I tried being alone. Nothing compared to living with John. No one could make me forget him. Am I 100% sure he won’t leave me again, or hurt me again? No. But when I was with another gentleman, John was the one I thought about, and when I’m happy, it’s John I want to share with. I found that after all that was bad in our relationship we were willing to tear it down and build a new one so we could stay together. Maybe your love is willing to try a new relationship with you?”

“He did say he was willing to follow me anywhere, but I declined.” Joaquin looked miserable.

“Talk to him, be very specific about what a relationship means for you. See what you are both willing to do for it to work. If this is the person you want to be with, that you can’t stop thinking about, then take that step. Better that you know you gave it your all, than to think ‘I should have’ further on.” Sherlock said, surprising himself.

The young man thanked him and seemed happy with Sherlock’s advice. After a break, he gave the stage to his colleague, a taller, broader, blonde bloke with a remarkable voice, but less charisma. Sherlock noticed the man’s eyes were constantly on Quincy. 

Then he was distracted by Watson and John dancing. His heart skipped several beats. His Watson looked so beautiful, a cream colored dress, with a v-neck decotte, three small roses on the vest. The gown length skirt had a few roses and some petals. She and Pepsi had matching bracelets, a gift from Mycroft; Sherlock suspected the “shiny things” might actually be diamonds. The “perfect” shoes had tiny heels that made her look so grown up. She was smiling her widest and most beautiful, and when the song was done, she ran to him, hugged him tight. “I love you, papá!” And off she ran.

“I told her that I would rather go home with you, than to Nice with the rest of the group, and that she could come with. She said she would still go to the beach with Pepsi and Mel, because it would be ‘weird’ for them to go alone with her family.”

“She wants us to have time to ourselves.”

“Yeah. She said; ’Don’t mess this up.’”

“Then we shouldn’t.” Sherlock said seriously. 

The next day, after breakfast, the guests took their leaves, as the Holmes, Harry, Meg, and the Holmes-Lestrade prepared for their trip. Harry and Meg were clearly happy for them, and Mr and Mrs Holmes assured them Rosie would be fine. 

******

So the two men said their goodbyes and set off for London in John’s rental car. John noticed Sherlock wasn’t participating in his attempts at conversation, so he put on the classical music station as they drove. He insisted on going to John’s flat for him to pick up some things and then giving the rental back, before going to Baker Street. John’s attempts at humour had no better result, so he just came out and said, “Sherlock, we could stay here, we don’t have to go to 221B if you aren’t comfortable…”

“Home, John, call it what it is. Are you sure about this? You are ready to come home?”

“Yes, Sherlock. Will you take me? I really, really want to come home with you.”

[ Sherlock||Will You Take Me Home? by jobooksncoffee](https://youtu.be/jwPNS--v6Nk)

Sherlock took his hand, and pulled him out the door, John was lucky to grab his sports bag. Of course a taxi stopped in front of them immediately, and by the time they got home, Sherlock was a mess of fidgeting legs and tambourine hands.

The first thing John noticed was that the 17th step did not creek anymore. Sherlock opened the door and stepped back again, his body slightly swaying, his fingers playing the tambourine on his leg.

John looked inside, his heart picking up speed, a smile spreading on his face. The flat looked enormous. There was the sitting room, the evidence wall, now peppered with Rosie’s schedules, pictures, and projects due. There was the fireplace, and his dear red armchair, and Sherlock’s across from it, as if he had never left. There was their sofa and the telly. 

Their dining table was relocated to a proper dining room, with a proper table and chairs. John remembered Sherlock annoying him to pick the fabric that he preferred “for a case”. There was a tall, wooden cabinet displaying a posh tea set and plate servings that looked like the ones the Holmes had in Sussex. 

Across the dinner there was a big room, the library that John had said he had wanted, with floor to ceiling bookshelves, rolling library ladder included, covering a whole wall, and a media center with three computers, a fax and a copier, a file cabinet, two rolly chairs, a proper desk on the other side. A large sofa, which seemed big enough to be a daybed, was against the window wall. 

At the other end of the dining room, there was a guest bathroom, and finally, a room that had a washer like one John had openly admired, a dryer, shoe racks and closets for out of season clothing and space to keep linen and towels. 

Sherlock took him past the kitchen to the second floor, where the tiny room he had used before they had been a couple was expanded. It had a bigger, comfier bed, closets and drawers, a bookshelf and a shared bathroom. This was Watson’s room.

Right across it, there was a guest room that was similar, though a little smaller. There was a space in front of the rooms, that had a long window seat, with plush cushions on it. There was Rosie’s easel, a target with magnetic darts, and various board games.

Downstairs again, Sherlock showed John the kitchen, double sinks, and bigger island in the middle, with four stools around it. They had a double refrigerator now. The shelves were big, and there were some portable step ladders to help smaller people reach the higher ones. The stove was also bigger and had an oven. 

Sherlock then took John to the bedroom. It was painted in deep blue John had said was comforting. The bed had a new mattress, there was a walk in closet now, big enough for John’s things. There was an empty window box up on the wall and a picture of the three of them, right before everything had gone wrong, on one of the night stands. The bathroom had ample space to put things away, an enormous rain shower head, a big bathtub, and a double sink. John saw, and he also observed. (“ _ Personal space, Sherlock! This space feels so tiny at times _ ”) He noticed the bathroom shelves only contained Sherlock’s things, nothing else. He looked back at the bedroom and saw dust, the bed undisturbed, the closets almost empty. Sherlock saw him noticing. “I couldn’t sleep here, after- you left. I sleep in the daybed in the library."

John was walking around again and remembering; ( _ “If we had a bigger kitchen, maybe you would feel inclined to participate, or take the initiative once in a while _ ). The dining room;  _ (It would be nice to have a proper place to feed the gang, instead of everybody eating from plates on their laps because they don’t want to fight over seats at the table. We have no space to put proper dining sets, either _ ). The media room;  _ (If we had better computers Sherlock, maybe you could stay a couple of evenings a week instead of leaving. We like you here”  _ Those had been better times). The laundry room; ( _ Of course you don’t see the need for a washer and a dryer here! You don’t have to go to the basement when it’s freezing! _ ). The rooms upstairs; ( _ I’m worried Rosie is going to need more space soon. There is nothing we can do about it here _ ). 

John turned to Sherlock. The man wouldn’t look at him, but said, “I planned this much before you left. It was to be- a peace offering. I was planning to show you the blueprints and sweep you and Rosie off your feet to Disney World in the US. Then we would live in one of the flats that Mycroft keeps for important visitors until the renovations were complete. The house next door was bought and remodeled to fit our needs. It was bought with money from the cases, John. I was going to show you that week, when I came back from the case. But by then we were so fed up, it all went up in flames. Everything was paid for, services were contracted. The only thing I gave back was the trip to Disney. Mrs.Hudson has a perfectly good sofa, and during the noisiest of the renovations, I paid for her to take her sister to Brighton. 

“That would have been when we had just separated.” John stated.

“A month or so, yes. I was working on the case of Donovan’s niece. It helped me focus on getting that little girl out of the bad home conditions, into a good school. I was alright if I was busy. It was much harder coming back home.”

“You did this for me.”

“Yes. I wanted to show you what I couldn’t say. I wanted you to remember you belonged here, with me, but…” Sherlock cut off, he was looking at the wooden floor of the living room.

“I’m here now. And this is beautiful, and I’m an idiot. But I’m your idiot, and I won’t leave again. This time we will say what we mean. I love you and you are my home.” He put his hands gently on the detectives face. When Sherlock finally looked at him, his eyes were moist, and he seemed to have trouble talking. So John kissed him, gently, lovingly, until he could talk again. 

“Welcome home, John Watson. Welcome back, my dear one.” Now tears spilled down his face, and he hid it against John’s neck. John hugged him gently, and took his hand, leading him to their bedroom.

They sat on the bed, John’s hand going up and down his back, talking soothingly, but Sherlock was beyond trying to understand. John got off the bed, took his and Sherlock’s shoes off and took off his own shirt. Sherlock helped him with that, as John undressed him. Then they got in the bed together, in their room, at home, for the first time in almost a year. Sherlock had kept his pants on, while John was naked, he had kept the soft light of the lamp on, while Sherlock had closed the curtains and turned off every other light. The detective clung to his partner for what felt as a long time, overwhelmed, trembling. John got up on his arm and touched Sherlock’s cheekbones. “I’ve missed you so much, love. I’ve missed this.” Sherlock also touched John’s face. John continued, his hand gentle over Sherlock’s body, returning to his face, to touch his lips, to run his fingers through his hair. “John, would you be terribly disappointed, if… No, never mind.”

“It’s alright, love, just say.”

“I’m… I don’t think I can. I need you to hold me, not...”

“Come here, of course I will hold you.” John collected his still trembling genius in his arms and did just that, reveling in being with him like this in their bed, until his breath had evened out and his body was still. John marveled at how much he had missed him, missed being with him at their home, knowing they didn’t have to separate anymore. He fell asleep too.

When they woke up, the flat was dark. Sherlock had just woken up and was looking at John, worriedly. “Hey there,” the doctor said.

“I have to check on Mrs Hudson, John.” Sherlock said anxiously. “I haven’t since we came back. She hasn’t made one noise, or come in once. It’s not like her, to have heard us and not come up with tea.”

“Oh love, don’t worry. I forgot to tell you, but I sent her and Mrs Turner to the Liliac Veil Spa for a week’s holiday. They were extremely happy about it, too.”

“Oh thank goodness. That woman better outlive me.” Sherlock said. John smiled. “Last time I was at hers, she shared she was upset with her doctor, because he didn’t want to send her any pain medication for her hip. I’ve seen her latest tests. She is a healthy old girl, love.” 

That day, Mrs Hudson had casually talked about Sherlock’s underground network and how often she had fed and sheltered them. She had contacts, she mentioned, to punish people who hurt her family, or dared to break her boy’s heart. This, John did not share with Sherlock.

“And she said, she would fill up our refrigerator.” 

At that, Sherlock got up, put on his robe, and went to the kitchen. John heard a “Yes!” He heard Sherlock moving about and got up and dressed to find him putting the kettle on. “Not just our refrigerator, John. Look!” He pointed at the oven, then went to the fridge and took out the makings of a salad. “Shepherd's Pie!” John found some red wine and they had dinner. Sherlock found her bread and butter pudding, so they also had dessert. Then they each showered, dressed and went out, to walk around the neighborhood, in the warm evening. 

Sherlock talked a bit about some of his solo cases, even sharing some gossip about Donovan, whom he had seen there, and at the breakfast nook he frequented with Watson, with DI Rodriguez, head detective of the Drug Administration division, with whom she had bumped heads over a case with last year, and now was apparently dating. They talked about how easily Rosie maintained contact with her friends over the summer break, and of course about the wedding.”

John then brought up something he had been keeping in, “By the way, did you know I was insanely jealous of Greg?”

“You, jealous of Lestrade? What, when we just met?” Sherlock laughed, “funny that, Lestrade and I were just talking about that, how times change.”

“Wait. You and Greg actually had something, then? Before I was around?”

“No. Why were you jealous?”Sherlock had to know.

“Because I was told he came to see you every week and had lunch with you, while I wasn’t allowed to even step upstairs.”

“Well, now you know why that was. And Greg actually visited much more than once a week. He was family by then, living with Mycroft. We all know it was better he came than The Queen.”

“Greg?? Did you actually remember his name?”

“I have always known it, John. Really, why would you think I would not know the name of one of the three people I jumped for?”

“Because you never say it right?" John ventured

“I was following his directions, John! You can ask him about it next time the two of you go for a pint. Now we are home and I can think of 57 much more pleasurable things to do than continue this conversation.” 

With that, the detective opened the door and flew up the stairs, leaving John chuckling and shaking his head. He closed up, checked Mrs Hudson’s flat for lights and appliances, and made his way upstairs, to find his man filling up two whiskey tumblers. He looked gorgeous in the soft light of the flat; his hair growing out a bit, curls starting to rebel, some brazen silver strands appearing amongst the still supple darker ones. He had filled out nicely since the time he first saw him after the trip to Cardiff, put on at least a stone, of muscle. His face had definite lines now, made his nose crinkle defined, the ones around his eyes announced he smiled and laughed more than he would ever admit to. He had never been so beautiful to John’s eyes. He raised his glass and said, “To coming back home.” but his voice broke and his eyes flooded. John lowered his head and wiped his eyes with his hand.

“To starting anew, Dearest one.” Sherlock proclaimed, with a rough voice. They drank. John came closer to Sherlock and put an arm around his waist. “What do you need now, love? We can do whatever you want.” 

“I need you John, I’ve always wanted you, only you.” Their kiss was sweet and gentle; a hello, an ‘are you alright?’, a ‘there you are’. John guided Sherlock back to their room, a gentle hand on the small of his back. He turned the lights low, liking the warmth of them, and took Sherlock’s face in his hands, getting on tiptoes to kiss him. Sherlock smiled and started unbuttoning John’s shirt. John took Sherlock’s off him and opened his belt, his trousers, explored his torso with his hands, and felt a knot in his throat, because this was so familiar, but had not happened in almost a year and a half, this loving, domestic ritual of a happy couple. 

“John,” Sherlock bent to kiss his jaw, his neck, to sniff his hair. They stepped out of shoes and trousers and got on the bed, Sherlock failing to grasp on to John, who stopped to rid them both of socks, as Sherlock laughed. John always liked to feel his feet, cold as they were. Sherlock stood and lifted the covers, getting in the bed, going to his side. This time, he was ready. This time, he kissed John as he got in, and pulled him towards his body. This time, when John kissed him, his neck, his chest, Sherlock said “Yes”, he said “more”, he hummed at John’s lips, at his touch. “God, I want to do everything with you,” said John, releasing the nipple he was teasing. 

“I know you’ve missed me, but I’m not God, John. Ahh!”

“Cheeky git.” mumbled John, as he kissed his way down Sherlock’s chest and belly, finally taking his love’s length in his mouth and rendering him breathless. John teased, kissing the tip, licking the length, sucking softly, until Sherlock was writhing on the bed, holding on to the pillow and the sheet, moaning and talking incoherently. John’s slick hand took over, playing with the pressure and friction, as his mouth released him, after a nice long suck, smiling at the affronted look he got from the detective. “I said I wanted to do everything.” The Doctor smiled. 

The Detective responded; “Well, since we did have quite a repertoire of activities built up, you might want to narrow it down, John." 

John raised an eyebrow naughtily, flipped Sherlock over and slapped his derriere. “Stay there, love, that’s a good boy,” John took the lube, heated it in his hands, used one hand to fondle his lover’s bollocks and the other to slick up his rim and play there. John moved the hand not in that play to tease his lover’s body going up and down Sherlock’s chest and belly with just the right pressure, avoiding his cock. He inserted one more finger, moved it in and out, slowly, then rhythmically. He found Sherlock’s prostate and massaged it making the man moan. His lover started rocking back, towards the fingers, taking a hand off the railing, reaching to touch himself.

“No love. I got you.”

He held Sherlock’s cock moving his fist slowly. “John!”

John continued his slow, relentless torture

“John, please!!” Sherlock whinged. 

“Please what, love?” teased John.

“Move along with the proceedings!” 

“Sorry, what was that sweetheart?” John smiled

“John, inside me now!”

“My fingers are inside you, Sherlock.” Teased John, who knew Sherlock avoided cursing and used to complain about John’s dirty mouth.

“John! Get on with it!!” As a response, John curled his fingers to touch the prostate more. Sherlock made the most amazing needy sounds. Then the Captain stopped, to apply lube on Sherlock’s cock

“John!!”

“Yes??” John grinned

Sherlock let out an exasperated breath, rolled his eyes and glared at his lover. “Fine,” he muttered. “Fuck me John. Please.”

“Now I understand you, Posh Boy.” John was happy to comply, as he had neglected his own cock during his little game and it was hard to the point of being painful. He placed Sherlock on his back again, and moved around to kiss his lips, careful not to have their bodies touch, lest either or both just go off. John wanted this feeling, this sweet and anticipatory heat, to last longer. His body vibrated with the joy of having what he had missed so much. His feeling of belonging to his mad man so strong, he wondered why he had sought him in other bodies. Now he ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, and kissed his neck, placed a kiss on the bullet scar, Sherlock’s eyes followed him, his movements, his kisses. His breath hitched, his legs trembling. John placed himself and entered, hearing Sherlock gasp. Neither man moved, just breathed, Sherlock’s eyes closed. 

“All yours,” John whispered “Everything I am, all yours.” He started rocking. John’s brain whited out to the pure sensation of being in Sherlock, the tightness, the slap of their bodies, the leaking of his cock. Hard, fast thrusts, the intensity of their connection burning John up.

Sherlock covered his eyes against the visual of John fucking and holding him on their bed. Almost overwhelmed by the sensations, the sounds, and the smell of the two of them together. He moaned and writhed and shook with blind need. He had to come soon, to finish, or it would all be too much. He wanted to tell John, but his words had abandoned him.

John saw Sherlock’s eyes squeezed shut, his hands clenched on the sheets “Sherlock, come now, love.” He started him off, his hand on his lover’s cock, until Sherlock’s larger hand joined in and he came, making a mess of both their abdomens. John was so close he only needed a few more thrusts, and they were down, lying next to each other. John got up to wash and brought flannels to help Sherlock clean up, though the detective was mostly down for the count.

******

Though he had a sense of having been cuddled to sleep, Sherlock woke up alone, smiling thinking of John, though one look around showed him this was not his flat. Still half asleep and disoriented, he looked at the bed he was in and how well he was tucked in, and felt despair, this was Luther’s bed. Being with John had, of course, been a dream. He buried his face in the pillow again, not wanting to think, but taking in a distinctive scent from the pillow next to him; there was also a strand of blond, gray hair. John’s!! 

He sat up, his mind suddenly clear, and hurried out of the bedroom looking for him. He found John in the living room, video chatting with Harry and turning the computer away from Sherlock’s naked body. Unfortunately, she got an eyeful and started cheering.

“Oi, you git! It could have been Rosie I was talking to! Go get dressed!” John snickered.

“Rosie would not be scandalized by a human body.” Sherlock assured him” John gave him a look.

“I thought you had left.” Sherlock muttered.

“And leave all that behind? He would be bonkers, mate!” yelled Harry. 

“Put on your robe, Meg went to get Rosie.” John said gently.

Rosie and Pepsi came into view, and Sherlock joined John hurriedly dressed in pajamas and a robe. 

“Hi Dad! Hi Papá! Did you like the flat, dad? Did Nana Hudson call from the spa?”

“Hi monkey. Yes, I love the flat, sweetheart. I love being home even more.” The girls squeaked and grabbed each other’s hands. 

“Mrs Hudson reports she is tired of being pampered and that they have no proper tea at the resort, only ‘that vile green stuff’. She will be coming home when you are, Rosalie.” said Sherlock, as he knew Watson liked to hear her new name.

“So this is it, dad? Are we packing our things and moving back home for real?” Rosie was trying hard to contain her excitement.

“Yes Rosie, I will go back to the flat and pack everything. I’ll arrange something with the landlord. You will not have to go back there. You can stay in your room at home.” 

More squeaking from the girls. “And we’re staying for good, right?” 

“Yes, Rosie, we are staying for good.” John reassured.

“Woohoo!! About time!! Thank you, for finally getting it together!!” 

Mel Stamford came in and yelled, “Oi! the banana boat is back, let’s go!!” Pepsi waved goodbye and Watson said, “Love you Dad, Love you Papá!!” 

Harry told them, “She has been trying not to be worried, but she was afraid you two would fight, and that you wouldn’t stay together.” Sherlock sneaked a quick glance at John. John felt it and said, “We will stay together. I will do everything in my power to make sure we do.”

They reveled in being together, in using the week they had alone to reconnect, to get used to sharing the same space again, to fitting in with one another. There were cuddles, and shared showers and baths, and cooking together. There was the violin, and John revealing his art to Sherlock, who was very impressed, and there was a healthy amount of enthusiastic sex. John enjoyed, and learned, and tried not to think of how Sherlock had furthered his education in that specific topic. They also packed John’s flat, bringing the boxes back home. They bought some things they considered they needed for the flat and the one in the basement. They went to the Yard to hand Donovan some reports, and had coffee with Mike, finally going to Dr. Quentin, to sign up for monthly couples therapy sessions at least for the time being. 

The men went to Bart's to ask about some evidence they had to pick up for a case. Molly noticed no change, nor commented on it, greeting them happily, though a bit distractedly, taking them to Allen for the fingerprints and promising to have a get together soon. 

“Was she alright? Do you think she is having trouble with Wiggins already?” John worried.

“Quite frankly, John, for a romantic your pessimism is worrying. Molly and Wiggins are doing fine, as you should note from the considerably expensive engagement ring. Besides he obviously adores her. She was distracted by trying to keep a secret from me, which only brought it more to my attention, though it is clear as day.”

“What is ‘it’?” 

“Seriously dearest, you are a doctor. Her roots are showing. She was happily being blonde. She had chamomile tea, instead of the coffee she loves. Her eyes have dark circles around them and her cheeks are slightly hollowed in, signs of gastric distress, yet she is at work, instead of staying home…,” he made a sign with his hand that John should finish his thought. 

John had caught on, but didn’t want to spoil his fun. “I don’t understand.”

“She is pregnant, John, did you not see her distended abdomen? Though she had champagne at the house warming so it is less than three months. With that size of growth, she is most certainly carrying twins. Molly has never mentioned having any relatives who are twins so it most probably falls on Wiggin’s genetics, and in that case, we will never know for sure, as his mother had multiple partners."

Now John sincerely exclaimed; “Amazing, Sherlock!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even an ardent reader like me, in fandom for almost four years may still discover "new to me" authors and stories. Today I recc [ The Assistant ](https://arichiveofourown.org/works/11604102/chapters/260855501) by [ delightful_fear ](https://%20archiveofourown.org/users/delightful_fear/pseuds/delightful_fear) , who has many more captivating stories!  
If you have not visited Dovahlock221's YouTube page, BakerEdits , do yourself a favor and do so now! You will experience her extraordinary talent for pairing the most precise lyrics to the scenes, making stories so vivid, you must be prepared with tissues, and chocolate and a teddy bear, for all the feelings they evoke!  
Find the songs that inspired me while writing this monster at [ Will You Take Me Home? ](www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gJG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e) the playlist on YouTube.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men are together at last! They are both working to make this time better than before. The past has ways to budge into their lives, but new ways must be found to deal with it. Therapy has helped John accept that people can grow and change for the better, no matter who they came from. Living together again, celebrating occasions big and small strengthens a relationship. Expressing a desire to live with a person for the rest of their life, also shows love and growth. A home for their future, will be the stage to their commitment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my patient, long suffering, ever attentive betas [ Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) and [ Loveismyrevolution ](https://archiveofourown/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) everlasting thanks for going through this story time and again with little and not so little changes and additions.  
To you who read this story, who kudoed, commented, bookmarked it, know that you are thanked, for looking at these characters, getting to know this story, maybe thinking about how much longer they can be idiots, or being happy for them as they get it together. You have made this experience so much better, and you have helped me soldier on. Thank you.

Rosie and Mrs Hudson came back on the same day, both overjoyed with the news, both so happy to see them back together and resume being the Baker Street family they were meant to be. 

The school year began, and they both attended the parent-teacher conferences. John continued working on the Veteran’s Health Project at Barts. Bill and Molly announced they were in fact expecting twins. 

Sherlock talked with two of his underground girls, Claire and Kaia, who had been showing the desire to get off the streets and pursue an education. They were to board in the basement flat, which had also undergone a transformation, and discreetly help Mrs Hudson with things such as shopping, dropping off dry cleaning, being undercover companions and housekeepers for her as needs arose. This way, there would always be two people at 221B to keep an eye on her, if Sherlock and John were away on a case, or on a holiday. 

Kaia was a caring, considerate person, who, having grown up without a mother, took to Mrs Hudson immediately. She was small, thin, with long black hair and dark skin. Claire was outspoken, bad mouthed, and quick to be angry. She was taller and bigger than Kaia, her originally blonde hair often tinted blue or pink. She had grown up in the streets after her mom had started bringing home a different boyfriend every week. She also took to Mrs H immediately, and to Rosie also, though she would not easily let it be known. Claire wanted to be an EMS, Kaia wanted to be a social worker, as a case manager had saved her life, even if the lady had been taken off her case soon after, and Kaia had had to run away from home. At first the two young ladies barely tolerated each other, but over the weeks, John saw they created an alliance of a kind, and wondered if Sherlock had purposefully picked each girl. Especially since Mrs Hudson took to them like a duck took to water, and insisted on feeding them both and having them over for tea, constantly. Her stories of the “good old days” endeared her to Claire. She was soon calling them “my girls”.

One day John came in, after a quick trip to the yard, with a satisfied smirk. Sherlock was absorbed in an experiment comparing the rate of decomposition of a body submerged in water, to that of water plus a certain quantity of chemical fertilizer. The result of which had made Rosie beg the Stamfords to let her stay over. Claire had walked out in disgust, and Kaia had taken Mrs H out for coffee, on the other side of town. John ignored all of this, and the smell, so content was he about his discovery. He stood next to Sherlock and smiled until the genius noticed him. 

“What?” he asked.

“This is Collin Morton.” John beamed. 

Sherlock looked at the picture, then back at John. “Is he new at the Yard?" 

“In a way. He is DI Harris’s new boyfriend.” 

Sherlock looked at John, at a loss for an appropriate response. “I don’t know why you are showing me his picture.”

“Sherlock!" John laughed, “He looks just like you! He’s tall and lanky, look at the cheekbones, and the curls and the eyes!” 

Sherlock looked, puzzled. “John. I can’t say I see a resemblance. Maybe his coat looks like my Belfast.” 

“I know, but remember, DI Harris had a crush on you? He went and found a bloke that looks like you!” At Sherlock’s puzzled nose crinkle, John laughed. “Never mind, love. I have the original.”

*********

“So, Team 2, we have to divy up; three of us will each take some clues and one will be a spy, hanging out with the other groups, finding out what the others already found, pretending to want to change groups.” Rosie directed.

“I’ll follow clues. I’m good at that.” Nyla was certain.

“I’ll be the spy!” Pepsi nodded. 

“Nope…” said Rosie. 

“Why not? I could be a good one!” 

“Yeah, you could be…” said Nyla, “...but in this group, no one would believe you would skip out on the Rose. The two of you are inseparable.”

“I’ll be the spy,” said Jackson. “Allison is OK at making nice, but everyone likes me!” Allison scowled, but the other two nodded. 

Rosie soothed Pepsi, “Besides, Pepsi, you and I are a great team. You read the clues out loud and help me think, we will find things faster like that. Once we’re done, we’ll find Allison and go help her out.” Allison frowned. 

“If she needs it,” Pepsi corrected. “Rose really can find things faster than others. Her papá taught her how to deduce.”

Rosie explained. “He didn’t so much teach me, as much as allowed me to observe him.”

Team 2 did win the scavenger hunt. The proud parents, the Stamfords, John and Sherlock had heard the conversation thanks to Linda’s recordings of the event. All the Team 2 families went to have fish and chips for dinner. They were so busy, and stayed out for so late, that neither Sherlock nor John acknowledged that this day was the anniversary of the one John had left. That night in bed, though, after a satisfying round of sex, the two men slept in each other’s arms.

********

“Things feel different, but in a good way.” John confessed to Beverly. “I remember before, I felt I had to make fun of him for being smarter than the rest of us, or bring up his mistakes when he spoke in that posh tone of his. I had to ‘bring Sherlock down a peg’ when he had a brilliant deduction, or when he was describing his thinking process about a case. That isn’t present anymore. I can just bask in admiration. What do you think about that? Is it temporary?”

“Well, you are certainly in love, and in a renewed relationship. However, you have been working hard to overcome those feelings of having to curb your love for a man, for your man. I think you really want to be proud of being in a homosexual, committed relationship. This allows you to let go of the need to punish Sherlock for ‘making you love him’.“

“How messed up have I been, that I had to punish my partner for loving him! Now I can’t stop myself from holding his hand when we are out together, I feel I have to kiss him goodbye when we part ways and I have unnecessarily pointed out that ‘We’re together’ during cases, and when meeting new people. I’ve caught Sherlock rolling his eyes, though he is almost always smiling.”

“That sounds great! How is he doing? Is he still seeing Ian?” John smiled at the slip, “Yeah, he still sees Dr.Quentin. A couple of times a month. He feels he helps him practice putting his emotions into words, and saying what he actually wants to communicate.”

“Well then John, everything sounds good. How about we meet on the 15th and talk about family interaction? As always, don’t hesitate to call if you need to.”

*******

The following week, John came home with food and supplies and heard a low, familiar voice in the flat, “I told her we had been to that bar in the Eiffel tower. Wasn’t that nice, Bay… Sherlock?” 

That was Luther. Luther was in his home, with his man. “It was a good place with a lovely view, Iyanna, I’m happy you are going to France. I believe you would also enjoy Portugal, Spain and Italy. They would fulfill your love of romance.”

“Well you are quite a detective, Sherlock, knowing things about me, and us just meeting.” 

“Well, I did know of you. Your husband obviously loves you very much. We talked about our loves. John, please do finish coming in.”

John came in, ready to see Luther sitting in his living room. Sherlock was alone, with a naughty little grin on, impeccably dressed. “Come say hello, dearest.” He waved him on. Putting the bags in the kitchen, he came to look into the computer, where he found an elegant lady of 50 something years old, waving at him. “Iyanna, this is John, my partner. John, this is Iyanna, Luther’s fiancee.”

“Hello John, you can just say ex-wife.” said the lady with a smile.

“I rather, you just say ‘wife’ as she will be so again very soon. We were talking about our honeymoon, our sex-holiday,” said Luther, handing her a drink, as she slapped his shoulder. “Hello John. Congratulations on your renewed relationship.” the woman said.

“Pleased to meet you Iyanna. Hi Luther. Congratulations to both of you as well! Will you be coming to London for a visit?”

“Not this time, Nadine and her family will join us at some nice beachy location for a long weekend. Luther spent_ enough _ time in London not so long ago.” Iyanna winked at John, who let out a sigh of relief. 

John said his goodbyes to them and heard the two male voices talking for a bit. As he went to the laundry room, he overheard Luther talking: 

“She was_ very _ jealous of you, baby. But I had to tell her about you and how we were, so she could believe that I was going back to her because I chose to.” 

“I believe there was some of that at John’s end too, but he is quite self-assured. I think he was confident I wanted to be with him, although he might have not been thrilled to have a double date.”

“Oh, I understand that, baby, though it would have been nice to see you.”

“I agree, though I don’t think our partners would be quite ready for our transition to platonic friendship, Luther.”

“Well, I hope they will be, someday. I want to be able to see you again, baby, and not just through a screen.”

“Maybe, for starters, you should try calling me Sherlock,” he said smiling.

“See, that’s an issue. You will always be ‘Baby’ to me.”

At that, Sherlock heard a bang from the laundry room. 

“Think something came up. Goodbye, Luther. Say bye to Iyanna for me.” Sherlock said in a rush.

“Bye Baby. Say bye to your man.”

********

John was busy picking up the clothes that tumbled out when the basket and the detergent fell to the floor. Sherlock swept up the powder as John didn’t look at him.

“John.” No response.

“John. He called me so his wife could meet me. She wanted to see me… deduce me.”

“How fucking progressive of them.” Sherlock didn’t have to deduce much. John had his little rage smile on and when he put the clothes aside, his hands went into fists, his eyes glaring at him from under bent eyebrows.

“I couldn’t very well not talk to her, John.”

“All of a sudden you are Mr Manners.” John huffed. “Not only did you talk with her, you also spent your sweet time talking to ‘baby’ there. Are you two going to meet when he’s in France, since you have missed each other so bloody much?”

“I was not talking to ‘baby’, as that was Luther’s pet name for me. I never used nicknames…” At that, John stared at Sherlock, threw the rest of the clothes on the bench and left the room. He walked to the front, put his shoes on. “John,” Sherlock desperately wished for him to stop. “Please don’t. I broke up with Luther after Jackson’s birthday party. Can I tell you why?”

John realized he had been about to put his coat on and leave. Sherlock hadn’t really done anything wrong, had he. “Yes, go ahead.”

“He informed me that everytime I had been with him, I called out your name. Always. From the beginning. It was never he that mattered John. He was just- company. Someone I could be with when I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

John turned around and hugged him. “I hate all the times I told you we were broken up. I told you that the very day you started up with him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. It happened. It’s over. I would not trade a moment I can be with you, to be with him in any capacity. Even he knew, it was always you.” 

“I almost left.”

“I know.”

“A bit not good.”

“True, but I would have followed you.” They kissed and that night, John made sure he made Sherlock say his name, even though he did it softly, as Rosie was in her room.

*********

[ Jonathan Roy "Keeping Me Alive" ](https://youtu.be/UyaZmFGyuMg)

John had put this off long enough. It was past time. Still he felt his presence. Still he felt the nerves. But this was the final ritual. John walked towards the grave stone, overrun with weeds he did not touch, next to his mother’s. “Jonathan Hamish Watson”. John walked around a bit, and took a deep breath. 

“Beverly, my therapist, told me to come here. To come and talk as if you could hear. To talk to you. So I will, because I am working on being a better me, for myself and for the ones I love. But don’t think, for one minute, that i actually wanted to come, or that I would ever want to see you again, here or in any version of an afterlife. I came because I’m working on myself. For me and for my family. You hear that you bastard? Family. I do have one. You know I listened to you wish that you didn’t, that you could run away. All. The. Time. That’s what you did, you left to go get drunk. Leaving us with mom, who took her anger and anxiety out on us too. 

What you did to us though. Beating Harry up for liking girls. She drank like you, you arse. She ruined her life. But you know what? She’s good now. Married to a woman. She works at an advertising firm. Manages a team. She’s been sober for seven years. She is happy even with all the shite you put her through. 

You messed me up too. You got in my head and sank in deep. All the beatings, for as much as looking at a boy. All the drilling about my friends and my girlfriends. Always telling me a real man likes women, that it was dirty to want men, that gay men weren’t real men but abominations, and that if I liked a gay man I was scum, that only garbage takes it up the bum, that all gay men were out to get the “real ones”, to make us lesser men like them. You said it so much, you beat it into me so much, that when I found the love of my life, he terrified me. I couldn’t admit to what I felt thinking it would somehow diminish him, the smartest man alive, to be associated with garbage such as me.

Then I got married. To a woman. And oh, wouldn’t you have liked her! I was so used to your filth, I didn’t even notice her lies, her need to control everything about me, her own sick brand of abuse. She almost killed my partner…” he stopped to breath. Passed a hand over his wet face. Breathed deeply to control his anger. “Even when I finally got together with him, raising my child with him, your ghost was there in my head telling me to put him in his place, to not let people know I loved him, that he made me less of a man on purpose. I ended up leaving him, to prove to him he couldn’t make it without me, sure that he would come and beg me to come back home. I almost lost him to another man. One very sure of himself. Very much a man. I knew then I had to get rid of you. For my own good. To raise my child the right way. So they could grow up knowing they are loved and respected, always. I have been putting in so much work, and you know what? My partner, who is the best man I ever knew, gave me one more chance. Therapy helped. Anger management helped. You could have done it for us too, you bastard, but you chose yourself instead. I have proven to myself that, faulty as I am, I Am Not You. I will be there for my family and I will love them and have the love of my beautiful, genius, very male partner. Together we are raising my child. And just as if you were alive, you will never know them, never know their names, because you are not worthy of them. 

Dr Gates told me I must find something positive, something to thank you for before I go. So here it is; Thank you for finally leaving. With you gone, Harry came back home. We reconnected, she forgave me for not standing up to you. I have one more thing I can say. Thank you for showing me how evil, unhappy and angry a person can end up following your lead. You showed me exactly how I do not want to be. I gave you so much power, letting you in my head, listening and following your bullshit. It's over. I, John Hamish Watson, promise on my child’s name, which you will never know, that I will live my life for my family, and I will proudly live with my partner, my husband, honour him and let everyone know we are a couple. And dad, sex with him is the best. Life with him is amazing. You have no power over me anymore. This is the last time I will ever come here. Mom chose you. When you left, she held on to your beliefs. So you can keep her company now, even though you abandoned her in life. Goodbye to both of you. 

When he got back in his rental, he felt lighter, his head clearer. He took one deep breath, let it out, nodded to his image in the mirror and started the car, heading back to his life

*********

They had a beautiful Christmas Eve celebration, with the flat hosting the Stamfords, the Watsons, the Holmes, the Woods, the future Wiggins and of course Mrs Hudson and the girls, who were happy at being invited and very grateful for all the presents they got. 

Sherlock gave both Kaia and Claire a new computer. Rosie got a new and improved chemistry set, Mrs Hudson the bread maker machine she had her eye on, and a new warm robe, as did Molly. Wiggins got a carpentry set of tools as he had discovered a knack for making furniture. Linda and Mike got a week's holiday at a couple’s resort, whose owner agreed to pay Sherlock for his services by reserving a room for any time he needed it, for any week in the summer, with the promise of hosting the girls, for all the care they provided Rosie whenever it was needed. The Watsons also, as Harry had played a pivotal role in getting them together again. Mummy and Dad got tickets for a theater production they wanted to see, two nights at the Hazlit Hotel, close to the theater district. 

The night went so well, with Mrs Hudson and the girls making the side dishes. Mummy and Daddy brought a Christmas cake, and British trifle, Sherlock and John the main dishes, John the roast beef and Sherlock the turkey. Harry and Meghan were in charge of the (non-alcoholic) drinks. The Woods brought stockings stuffed with sweeties, Molly and Bill brought in salads, and the Stamfords brought home made biscuits. Everybody ate, and drank, joined into conversation. 

Sherlock played Christmas carols, then some popular songs the girls asked for. That led to some dancing, then the opening of the presents and the desserts. After the guests left, it became apparent that Mummy and Daddy Holmes were staying in the guest room, to Sherlock’s dismay, to spend Christmas. Mummy went upstairs to put Rosie to bed, and Daddy had just gone up to bed, after a nice glass of excellent bourbon, and some very touching Sherlock childhood memories, John had been delighted and warmed to hear. 

Sherlock, in lieu of a material gift for John, had set up a foundation for Veterans of war, named it “Gratitude” and boosted it on social media, with Wiggins as one of its patrons. He brought up the page to show John now that it was officially Christmas. Sherlock had started it two months ago, and as a result, all the veterans currently in hospital or in the outpatient Vet’s program at Bart would get a care packet, tailored to their needs, plus a Christmas Dinner. 

“Sherlock!! This is unbelievably kind and thoughtful!! The best gift I could have dreamed of. These numbers are insane!”

“I went through the list of our acquaintances and clients. Everyone got an email with a link connecting to the website. They felt it was a worthy cause. I did remind a couple of them that I still possess a surprising amount of information about people and cases.”

“Sherlock!!” Laughed John “Thank you, love. This is by far the most selfless, considerate gift I have ever received. I am not going to be able to compete.” 

John got up, brought two glasses of that fine bourbon Daddy had gifted them and settled in his armchair, as Sherlock laid back in his chair, looking at the fire, and tipping his head back. “This was a good night.” He smiled. “I liked it, even though my parents insisted on staying.”

“It’s not over yet,” said John, “how many nights have we spent just like this? You and I in our chairs, in front of the fire, just the two of us?” John asked with dreamy eyes.

“Oh, innumerable,” said Sherlock. They were still dressed, John, relaxed in his chair, in a soft blue jumper Sherlock had given him a couple of years ago, that always made Sherlock look into his eyes. Sherlock, head on the back of his own chair, legs splayed out, had taken off his jacket, leaving his black pants, and the red shirt Rosie had insisted he wear.

“One in particular comes to mind right now. I was happy in the moment, although it was the last time in quite a long time.” said John, without moving from his seat, his sock foot going up and down Sherlock’s leg.

“Your stag night.” Sherlock pointed his bourbon glass at him. “We were playing some ridiculous game. I remember you asking me if you were pretty. I wanted badly to ravish you.”

[ Jack Savoretti - Only You ](https://youtu.be/8Q8_WjuHb6s)

John moved forward and put his hand on Sherlock’s knee. “I wouldn’t have stopped you. I would have kissed you myself, if Mrs Hudson hadn’t so conveniently interrupted us.” He moved forward, knees on the floor in front of Sherlock, his nerves suddenly dissipating the alcohol in his system, the little velvet bag in his pocket making his stomach flip.

“What? Do you want to fix that?” Sherlock smiled naughtily, seeing John on his knees. 

“I have something to say, only if you are not too drunk, though.” 

Sherlock sat up a little, threading his fingers through John’s hair. “I’m arguably sober, John. Say.”

“I knew you were mad when I met you. And I knew then, I wanted to be part of your life. We were in so fast, so deep… by the time we went to Buckingham Palace, by the time Adler came into the game, you were my whole world. You have always been. I’ve done so many things wrong, and it’s taken me so long to finally understand that, if I am your conductor of light, it is because you light my life up. If I am your Boswell, it is because you let me live your stories with you, if I am your soldier, it’s because I will protect you to my death, and if I am your doctor it is because you are the one person I can not be without. 

During this separation, I have taken a good look at myself, Sherlock, and the perceptions and ideas that were outdated and wrong in the first place. I promise never to touch you in anger again, not to leave you when I’m mad. I also give you my word that I will honour you, put you before any other, and show you off to the world.” John took a moment to breathe, passed his hands on his lover’s face. He shifted his weight a little. Sherlock looked at him, feeling evident in his eyes. “John…”

“Not, shut up, let me finish. I called you a ‘friend’ when I shouldn’t have. I will not, any more. I will call you my partner, the father of my girl, my love. There is one more title I want to give you, if you still find me worthy. William Sherlock Scott, will you marry me? I would be honored to call you husband.”

Sherlock was frozen for a moment, blinking, while John fidgeted around in his pocket and found the bag.

“John... Yes! yes, husbands!” He lowered himself to the floor, next to John and held on to him for a long while, enough for John to move and sit against the chair, bringing Sherlock into his arms properly. 

“This was my Grandfather’s ring. He was a Major during war time. Major John Edward Watson went on a mission to the US, transporting people from different parts of the world to the safe places in California. He would tell me stories about his travels, and later on, about a girl from a mining family, who gave him gold pebbles as a gift. He took them to a jeweler, who made it into a ring of the kind the town’s men favored at the time. My Grandfather gave it to me, because he said he knew, I would be the one to follow in his footsteps.”

The ring was heavy, 24 carats, with a very intricate design. Shaped like a barrel, the ring covered most of Sherlock’s first falange. The top edge said; “In Service Of The British Army”, the back showed the Lion and crossed swords insignia and the front bore the name Watson, in stately letters. On the inside were the words; “loyalty, duty, respect, love”. John put the ring on Sherlock’s finger. It stuck a little on his knuckle, then sat loosely around the finger. 

“I never thought of giving this to anyone other than you. Even when we were new flatmates, I wanted you to have it, you liked my army stuff so much, but there was no ‘normal’ way to go about giving it to you. Then I just, kind of made myself forget about it.” He took Sherlock’s hand and made sure the lion was on the top. “This is how it’s supposed to go.” Sherlock put his hands on either side of John’s face and kissed him. He took his sweet time. When they took a break to breathe, Sherlock turned the ring around again so Watson was seen on top. “So, we have gone from friends who co-parent, to boyfriends who live apart, to- what are we now?” he asked.

“Fiances. Or partners, lovers.” John answered.

“John, I want my fiance, and partner to be my lover in our bed now.”

*********

They got together quietly, each undressing the other, kissing, getting in bed, touching and licking and kissing languorously. John kissed him lovingly. They had had make up sex, needy rough sex, playful, acrobatic sex that left them both panting and sweaty (and sore the next day, they were fit, but far from 20, even 30). This, though, this called for love, for savoring, for a deeper connection. 

John turned Sherlock on his side, laying right behind him. Kissed his neck, made paths on his arms and back with the tips of his fingers, gave Sherlock’s legs some firm touches, his other hand able to caress Sherlock’s chest and tummy. Sherlock reached out and took John’s cock in his hand, firm and fast, just like John liked it and was rewarded by said cock harden even more. John then put his hand on his lover’s cock, which definitely brought upon a loud moan. “Shh love, we have visits.” John let his hands roam, nuzzled his fiance’s neck, marveled in the smell of his hair and was grateful for the chance to have woken up, to have realized that he did not want a life without this enigmatic, overactive, mad posh man. Now, he had a chance to set things right, to really be the two of them against the rest of the world. 

John shifted Sherlock’s leg, took a moment to apply lube and went back to caressing his fiance, playing with his rim, and teasing him with his finger tips, eliciting some beautiful sounds, Sherlock tried to contain. John held his cock tight in his hand, and introduced his finger. Though John thought this approach was tamer than some of their more energetic sessions, Sherlock seemed to find himself overwhelmed with the sensations. John could feel Sherlock’s back trembling, his breath fast and short, his hands reaching for any part of John he could touch. John entered him then, the sensation of filling him completely was breathtaking, the knowing that he was giving Sherlock pleasure making him thrust harder, the rhythmic contact with his body making Sherlock groan quite loudly. John’s agile hand flew over Sherlock’s cock, varying it’s grasp and speed. Sherlock was always vocal, and trying to tone it down must have added to his torment. He pulled the pillow to his face and started rocking back hard. John cursed a couple of times, and picked up his own pace. Sherlock came first, his usual noises lowered to whimpers, John quickly after, breathing hard, but having managed to keep the noise down to approved levels. As they came together again, in bed, after their trip to the shower, John noticed Sherlock had his ring on. 

It remained on Christmas morning, bringing delight to the Holmes parents, Mummy already planning to work with “that lovely girl, Meghan” to get the wedding together, despite Sherlock’s protests that “We will just have the ceremony at home, Mummy.” Rosie was beside herself, calling all her friends, therefore, letting Mike Stamford and the Woods know. Mrs. Hudson and the girls were invited to breakfast, and Greg and Mycroft joined them via video conference from their secret location. “Congratulations are due brother dear. Or should I say, long overdue.” “How did you...” started John. “When one has superior deductive skills, one is able to anticipate the moves of ehm, typical people.” “Oh, come off it, Myc!” laughed Greg, “The Rose called us, gave us a heads up.” 

“That doesn’t quite explain our Christmas present, now does it Gregory?" to that, Lestrade seemed to have no answer.

Daddy Holmes handed John a manila envelope. It held the title to a cottage in Sussex Downs. “What is this? This is way to much, Mycroft.”

“Not at all. I never paid Sherlock for his last ‘favor’. I asked him to help me find the mole in our trainer’s program. He told me he was too busy with… other activities to tend to the case, but did it in due time. I didn’t realize I hadn’t deposited the sum in his account. I was notified this property was on sale, and finally had a chance to invest his money in an appropriate way. This was Marcel’s property, Sherlock.”

“Marcel. Uncle Rudy’s partner. He was the one who taught me about bees.”

“Which brings us to our present, Sherlock.” said Mummy, “though I admit it was Dad’s idea. I would have gone with some nice glassware.”

“Boring mother… Dad, beehives? How am I supposed to keep bees?”

“I thought you would figure that out. You don’t have to keep them now. You could wait until you retire.”

“I think it’s a beautiful idea, George. Sherlock loves bees. And now that we have a place to actually put them.” John commented.

“Of course they conspired with Mycroft, John.” 

“It’s not conspiring when people get together to give a common present, Sherlock.” said Mrs. Hudson, as she gave him a gift of two thick tomes of “The Beekeeper’s Manual”.

The rest of the day was happy, with the girls, and Mummy heating up the leftovers from the evening before for lunch. Mrs Hudson stepped aside with Sherlock. “Young man, is there anything you feel you want to tell me?”

“Yes, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft congratulated me because John proposed. I accepted.” He rose his hand to show his ring. She looked at it and touched it, rubbing her finger on it’s ridges. “And are you sure about this, love? He is a dashing man, and we love him, I know, but do you believe it will be better now?”

“Yes, Mrs Hudson. I have to believe. He has changed the way he reacts to our relationship. He’s proud of us now. He told all of his army friends, his remaining family. He published it on the blog. He has gone back to being admiring, and supportive. He wants to spend the rest of his life with me.”

“Good sweetheart. I know he loves you and wants to make amends. I need to know you are sure of this step. I want both of you to finally be happy.”

“I am certain. He is too. We can make it work this time.” Mrs Hudson could say no more, and hugged him, for a long time. Then she let go, went to John, who was talking with Kailia, and hugged him hard, also.

*******

[ Dave Barnes -All I Want For Christmas is You ](https://youtu.be/J7qFQa1Glg) (I just HAD to include this song for them!!)

When they, or more precisely Sherlock, had finished inspecting the enormous “backyard” which had grown wild for lack of a caretaker, they took a walk along the border. The “cottage” was a gorgeous house two floors, three bedrooms, two bathrooms. It managed to keep its original old time flair, and John was very pleased with it. There were some minor renovations and updates, but they were not urgent. The outside did need attention sooner rather than later. 

“It was Luther you were busy with.” John commented, out of nowhere.

“What are you on about?” The nose crinkle appeared.

“When Mycroft said you had been too busy with ‘other activities’ to remember your pay.”

Sherlock said nothing, just put his gloved hands in his pockets and walked.

“How long were you really going out with him? And when did the two of you actually go to France?”

“John, it doesn’t matter.” grumbled Sherlock

“Then you shouldn’t mind saying it.”

“Fine.” Sherlock spat out, angry now. “Three months, two weeks and four days. We went to France a month and a half into our friendship, April 16th through the 20th, when I came back for my days with Watson. We stayed at the Peninsula Paris. During our time together all of our dates included some kind of sex, and me sleeping over at his place. Would you like a rundown of our preferences? Want to know the incidence of hand jobs, blowjobs, penetration, top/bottom, toys and new techniques acquired?”

Having bit off much more than he could chew, John answered hurriedly. “No thank you, enough Sherlock. It’s just- I left. I dated a handful of people, but you were the one who had a relationship.”

Now Sherlock was fuming. He swirled around and faced John. “I even asked you about the state of our relationship the day I finally went with him. I was depressed and lonely. Yes, I craved physical affection and yes, I took it from him, every chance I got! We were not in love, we weren’t romantic, but we were affectionate and sexual. It’s over. I don’t regret him though, and I refuse to apologize for that particular choice!

I can’t forget the time we were broken up John. I did not think I could have survived it, but I did. I was forced to lean on other people, Luther included, obviously. I learned to walk on my own two feet. I finally went to therapy and learned valuable lessons for myself. I will not delete what we went through, because I learned from it. I can survive on my own and my life is worth living. I hope you will continue to live it with me, but do not dwell on what happened during the time we were apart. I know I will greatly appreciate never knowing what you got up to with Gianna or any of the other people you kept company with. Dearest.”

John, who not so long ago would have turned around and walked away, now quietly followed Sherlock for a bit. Once they went inside, he stayed in the sitting room, looking at his phone. He got up to show Sherlock a picture. It was the day of Jackson’s birthday. Luther and Sherlock, walking away, hand in hand. Sherlock was closer to the camera, and his smile was beautifully captured. “I would never ask you to regret someone who made you feel like this. Honestly, it’s what I strive to do now. Make sure I show you how much I care in public, as much as in private.”

Sherlock hugged him, “You don’t have to keep that, John. I’ve only been truly home with you. You make me happy. And I have noticed all the ways you have changed. I hope you can accept how I have, too.”

John had noticed. He loved Sherlock’s little changes. His new self assurance. His speaking up. Knowing himself better. Exercising consistently, taking better care of himself. Doing things around the house unprompted, depositing checks and paying the bills. He was wrong about this, though. John did have to keep the photo. In case he ever was so cocky to think he was Sherlock’s only option. He had even sent the photo to Luther. 

Luther had smiled, but thought it might be better to delete it from his phone, Iyanna would not like it. Before he did though, he added it to a small file he kept on a memory stick at work. Both men were nicely dressed, out in public. Sherlock’s curls flying in the wind. His face, smiling wide, looking forwards. Luther, three steps ahead, looking back at his face, smiling too. Some kind of sentiment in his eyes. They were holding hands. There in his office, Luther printed the photograph, a small size, just enough to keep in his work journal. Iyanna rarely came to his office. He wouldn’t hide it, if she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here go two offerings very different one from the other. In no particular order, [An Everlasting Inferno ](https://archiveofourown.org.works/17045444/chapters/40076909) by thatawkwardfriend. An AU with al alternate meeting, enemies to lovers, with unbelivable action and a stunning case!  
The next one is a reunion fic, with Sherlock six months back. The boys are living together, but Sherlock is Not OK. Raw, harsh and ultimately loving, this one is a classic, [ Graveyard Poppy ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/659913/chapters/1203343#bookmark-form) It's orphaned, but it is one of the first fics I read and boy did it make an impression!  
The songs in this story can be found on the playlist of the title name [ Will You Take Me Home? ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e) on YouTube.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The HAPPYs are here!! There will be birthday celebrations, when John will have a long held dream come true!! It is a surprise for Sherlock and Rosie and they will both be so excited! There will be lovely family fun.  
Then, the long awaited wedding. Everything finally comes together. The place, the clothes, the music, the officiant! John is truly the Conductor of Light and completely dazzles Sherlock! Mycroft has only one word to add. What Sherlock feared would be a dumb ceremony that would jinx the new relationship he and John have forged together turned out to be The Most Important Day In His Life, after all, thanks to his husband, Doctor John Watson- Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my Betas, co-conspirers, and friends, Thank you! Without you both, this story would still be incomplete, on my Google Docs. [ Dovahlock221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221) started reading this story when it was still little more than halfway written, therefore forcing me to finish it so as to not disappoint this insanely talented video editor, author and poet. Then [ Loveismyrevolution ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) came along and she suggested we share stories and post them on AO3. Since then I have had the privilege of knowing and working with this marvelous person, and talented author. Both ladies have been friends beyond fandom, lifting my spirits and saving my life during life changing times. To both of you, my eternal gratitude ladies. I aspire to be the friend to each of you that you are to me.  
To my readers and commentors and those who left kudos or took a look, know that you have made this writing and posting experience 100% better for sharing this story with me. Also a special thanks to Johix for the beautiful art! Thank you all!!

[ Taylor Swift - You Belong With Me ](https://youtu.be/VuNIsY6JdUw)

They celebrated the January birthdays as a family, though they had to wait for the February half term holiday. John went ahead and surprised Sherlock and Rosie with a trip to Arctic Quest. He had been dreaming of it since he had first gone, but carrying out the surprise was a feat in of itself. He had gone to Lizbeth’s office to use the computer, and secure reservations. He made sure to rent a bigger comfortable van for the trip. He talked with Mrs Hudson, Kaia and Claire to let them know of their weekend. He called Donovan to let her know the dates of the trip. On the day before, he simply informed his loved ones they were going on a surprise belated birthday trip. John had made their suitcases. There was much huffing and puffing and questions, which John just answered with, “It’s a surprise, my beloved. Just trust me both of you are going to love it.” 

In a quest to annoy John, Sherlock and Watson subjected the Captain to the youngest’s entire playlist of Taylor Swift songs. Singing along loud and dramatically. John made all the appropriate protests; “Really?”, “Aw, come on, again?", “Stop it you two!” and “Sherlock, you git, stop this immediately!!” so they wouldn’t catch on to just how much he was enjoying Sherlock and Rosie screeching “So why can’t you seeee-ee-eeee, you belong with mee-ee-eee, you belong with me.” 

The screeches turned into squeals when Rosie noticed the signs on the turn John made. Sherlock turned to ask her what was the matter, and she could only say, “The dogs!! The dogs, Papá, the dooogss!” After everything they had gone through, Sherlock didn’t seem to place the name, but when he did, he turned around to gawk at John. “Murray’s Birthday place? The Huskies, John?" When John nodded yes, Sherlock’s smile was wider than Rosie’s.

It was better than John had imagined. He couldn’t stop smiling. The people at reception smiled in sympathy. Sherlock and Rossie went straight to the dogs. Not that they could enter, but they stood in front of the gates of their enclosure like moths in front of a lantern. They talked excitedly over each other, until John came to take them to their cabin. 

The next two days were glorious. John’s long ago vision of Sherlock rolling around with the dogs came true, and he didn’t know who of them was happiest; himself, or the madman he loved. Rosie needed a snow suit to enjoy the long day outside in the cold. She happily followed all the directions the trainer gave them. Sherlock had long ‘preparation’ times, playing with the dogs, brushing them, setting them in their places to pull the “sleds”. 

“John!" Sherlock called from where he was crouched down “assembling” his team during practice time. John came to him, having just left an enchanted Rosie with the instructor. 

“Yes, love?” he said

“Look at these dogs! They are a very intelligent breed! Take this one, Thunder. Look, when I clap they get into their positions. I changed their positions, John. Originally, Thunder was second on the left. The usual lead, Lobo demonstrated some attention issues, and seemed happy enough in the new position. I went ahead and changed all of them. They have behaved brilliantly, and I believe the team is stronger for it.” Then Sherlock took out a couple of treats, and the six dogs hurried over and threw Sherlock over on the snow, proceeding to cuddle with him, licking and nuzzling an extatic consulting detective. John took pictures and tried to keep his heart from bursting.

Then Rosie came complaining of cold, and John helped Sherlock up from under the pile of dogs. He tried to wipe off the fur from his jacket to no avail, and they walked the dogs back to the kennel. As they headed towards the cafe for some of their excellent hot chocolate, he stayed back a bit, as Rosie said something about running to the loo. Sherlock turned around to see what was keeping him and John grabbed onto him and kissed him hard, startling him.

“John!” He managed before John was at it again, getting an enthusiastic response this time. He heard giggles from the people who passed by, as he released his fiance, whose cheeks had the most beautiful shade of pink on them. Rosie had found a seat and had ordered for them all, pointing at them when the waitress asked where her parents were. Now she sat with a big smile on her face. 

The day of the races Sherlock gathered the three of them together and gave out his instructions. They competed against the other family. Even though the others were return guests, the Holmes Watson team would have won, had it not been for John being all over the moon looking at both his loves. He started late and lost to the other team’s mother. Her family celebrated noisily, while Rosie came running over to him to check if he was alright. Sherlock came as he assured Rosie everything was ok. Sherlock took one look at him, tilted his head and said, “Seriously? Really John?” His eyes however had gone soft and his face was pink with the cold. That night they waited until Rosie had fallen into an exhausted sleep in her room next door and made love quietly and oh so tenderly.

***********

Sherlock took up working cases again, John by his side. Without a fairy tale villain, the average case was less intense than those of their earlier years. Also, this time around Sherlock made an effort to come back home, to stay in touch, to sleep with John. 

John was working at Bart as the Veteran’s Program site director. He was enjoying the setting up of the program and the assembling of the teams and locations needed to keep the program growing. He was already thinking though, that once the program was running and functional, he could cut back his hours to participating doctor, or make up his own position as consulting administrator, so he could have more family hours. The lessons learned were clearly present in his brain. More communication, more attention and more affection. That both he and Sherlock were determined that this new relationship would work made all the difference in the world.

[ Karline - Never Knew I Had a Heart](https://youtu.be/xjy_Is5fOPI)

One thing Sherlock was adamant about was not having a ceremony. He had accepted a dinner at their new cottage in Sussex Downs, but resisted making any vows and refused any notions of preparing a “wedding”.

“John, we are already a family. We live together, have a daughter to raise, we eat and sleep and have sex together. We will sign a document for legal reasons, there is no reason for a dumb party. Just a dinner since you and Mummy insist.”

John knew better, though. He, Meghan, Charlie, the Stamfords and the Holmes parents, went all in to make the little wedding happen. Meghan, who had a more flexible schedule than Harry, would come down on Friday afternoon and stay the weekend to help at first Charlie, going to Sussex Downs with her, choosing a catering that also rented tents and chairs and tables, securing a landscaper to make the outdoor beautiful, hiring a gardener that would plant the flowers. John called the “River Boys” group from Mycroft’s wedding, and the singer was very happy to participate, refusing to have John pay for the airfare. He also went to Goldings and had a new suit bespoke for the occasion, unbeknownst to his intended. 

Charlie, Mike and Harry tried to convince Sherlock to buy a suit for his wedding. The man refused. It took Molly, with all her considerable girth, coming over to Baker Street to get him to reconsider.

John was out, as he so often was these days. Sherlock had a lull between cases. Molly caught him at home. Sherlock made tea for her and fortunately had some almond croissants to offer her. She went right to business and she munched along. “Sherlock. I know you and John are happy now, and you are scared to do anything that could jinx it.” Sherlock had immediately stopped pretending to show Molly pictures of a recent crime scene and looked at her wide eyed, no one else had figured out the real reason for his nerves. He was ashamed of it. It could almost be deemed superstition.

“I know how it feels, when you are so happy you think any little thing can upset it, and you think a wedding is such a stupid idea.” She said looking at him.

“Look at how his other wedding turned out!” Sherlock said miserably, “all my work, the locale, the clothes, the cake, the people! It didn’t make him happy. It didn’t make their relationship last! John ended up miserable and hating his wife!”

“Sherlock, that wasn’t because of the wedding! It was because John was marrying the wrong person! He was determined to love Mary but he didn’t. The relationship didn’t fail because of the wedding, it failed because one of them was an unrepentant liar and an assassin, and the other was in love with his best friend. John is so determined to make this day special for you. He has done so much! It means so much to him. And to Rosie. She is over the moon about this. I know you love the idea of being John Watson’s husband. He has a bespoken suit being made for him. Finally after all these years of loving him, you get to marry him. Dress up and celebrate with your friends.”

“Molly, this is so new. We worked so hard to get here. What’s wrong about keeping it as it is? We are happy now, and as you well said, I am reluctant to upset the status quo.”

“Like you said yourself, you are basically married already. You have adopted Rosie. Now it’s a matter of you having the same name, and being able to include John in the Holmes family, and having shared healthcare, and filing taxes together, and all those things married couples have. That’s all it is! Look at me, Sherlock. A year ago, I was alone with my cats. Bill blasted through my walls like an explosion, and turned my life arse over tits. And I love it. I wouldn’t change this for anything! You know John, you have seen how much work he has put in to fix his mistakes. He loves you Sherlock and he is determined. Has he failed you these last months? Will you let him down?” Molly asked and looked at him with affection.

“No, John has not faltered. I will do my best, Molly. Fine, I will look for a suit, I guess. I will not match his clothes!”

“Oh, no danger of that this time around. And I have some suggestions about what you should wear. It has to be something memorable.” And so the two friends bickered and laughed and by the end of the afternoon, Sherlock had something to show his anxious tailor. 

The Wiggin's twins, Matthew and Samantha, were born a couple of weeks before their due date. A bit underweight, but otherwise healthy and equipped with a potent set of lungs each. For Wiggins, it was Christmas in March. He was organized, loving and overactive, being a fantastic partner for Molly. She was certain that, just as she had told Sherlock, this was her happily ever after.

*******

[ Westlife - Us Against The World +Lyrics ](https://youtu.be/cO2luYJ72PM)

Most of the preparations for the ceremony and the party were kept from Sherlock. He was happy that John had gone with doing it at their Sussex house. They had stayed over the weekend a couple of times, with Meghan. Now there were fairy lights hung all over and everything was decorated in camel, light blue, blue green, sliver gray and off white tulips.

Sherlock walked around anxiously, Harry telling him to “Stay out of the way, Holmes!”

“Harry, where is John?” The caterers, gardeners, and assistants were making Sherlock anxious.

“In your parent’s house, but you aren’t to see him. He was very clear,” she said, in a good Captain Watson imitation. Sherlock really wanted to see him now, though. This day was getting so long already. He sidestepped Mummy and Meghan, who tended to forget that Sherlock was not planning this wedding. 

Mrs Hudson found him walking around. “Come, my boy, you look like you need some tea. Maybe a ginger nut or two.” Sherlock followed her then. 

She talked to him about the Wiggins twins, how she had gone to the hospital to see Molly and Billy had been such a gentleman. How the house had a beautiful nursery and how Kaia had knitted some beautiful tiny cardigans and little caps for them, while Claire had teased her and said Molly would never put them on the babies, and how she should think of giving Molly something. Then, when the three went together to help Molly out at her house, Claire had shown up with tiny pants and booties to complement the cardigans and a big ‘U' pillow for Molly and a baby carrier for Bill, who insisted on carrying the babies. 

Sherlock was grateful for Mrs Hudson’s presence, but as the day progressed, he couldn’t help getting nervous. He wanted John, how was he supposed to go through with this? He should just go out there and find John and tell him he couldn’t do this...

“Sherlock, you should be dressed honey, are you alright?” Daddy, the last person he had expected. “All the ladies retired to get beautiful. They kind of forgot us, I think.” 

“Daddy, I don’t think I can do this! Why does John want this, this is dumb. We already are a family, we have a home. Why have this ceremony?” Sherlock’s nerves were bouncing off the edges of his control.

“Come sweetheart, let’s have some liquid courage.” Daddy prepared two double whisky neats. Sherlock downed his immediately and dad gave him another. “Now that should do it, no need to get plastered. I don’t think your John would like that. Now, Sherlock, If I survived almost 50 years of marriage to your mother, you will be fine with Dr. Watson. He loves you. I never doubted that.”

“You didn’t? Even when we were separated?” Sherlock was curious.

“Not even when he was married to… well, when he was married. The way he looked at you, was the same way he looked at you when we met him. The same way he looked at you when you just got together, the way he looks at you now. That’s how your mother looks at me. She is the genius and lord knows we have had our differences, but I love her and she loves me. You and your Captain have come such a long way. You deserve this, this happier, softer now. With your girl, in your home. Do this my boy, it’s for you and for him. Think of what this day means. It is a reiteration of what you have. It is setting it in paper, in the archives of time. It is making your love and your family valid in the eyes of the law. More importantly, this is your husband, declaring to everyone that you two are so lucky as to love each other better than before, overcoming substantial odds. He wants everyone to know that he is marrying you, love. Get the clothes on, and come with me. Celebrate the strength of the love that has brought everyone here today, and be happy!”

Sherlock was in awe. He retrieved the suit, and really looked at it for the first time. Molly had helped him pick the off white jacket and the white shirt. Light grey trousers. There was a deep blue green bow tie, and matching blue green socks, and a pair of gray shoes. He held the shoes in his hands, surprised; Dad just smiled and said “Mycroft”. He put the clothes on, with Daddy helping him with the cuffs, placing some of his own cuff links on them. He helped Sherlock put the bow tie on. Then Daddy looked at him, and his eyes filled with moisture. “You look so handsome, my boy.”

Daddy gave him a moment, then called him to the window, to see the back yard. “Sherlock, come love. Look at all that he’s done. He looked at so many pictures. He wanted everything to match the colors in your eyes. Down to the little spot.” Sherlock blinked at that for a moment.

There was a promenade, the fairy lights were on, giving off golden light. Everything was decorated. There were sand colored hearts with tiny off white tulips secured to them with blue ribbons, everywhere, there were the chairs, grey, with blue green slashes.

Sherlock noticed that indeed everyone attending used clothes in the colors of the decorations. Harry, John’s Best Person had a beige tulle dress, long and fluffy, with a light blue top, deep v neck, and a camel colored jacket fitted perfectly her hair in a messy chignon. Mycroft, Sherlock's best man, had a dark blue suit and a grey shirt. Rosie, Pepsi and Nyla had on blue green matching dresses with gray slashes and shoes. The men had light grey suits with different color shirts, and the ladies wore dresses or suits in the color scheme. 

“Daddy, where is John? Where is my Watson? Everything is spinning around.”

Daddy took him in his arms. “Everything is going to be fine, love. John wanted everything simple, just the girls making the decorations, the singers, the cake. The ladies: your mother, Anthea, Harry, Meghan, Molly put in all of the other details, the clothes, the food. But it was John who planned everything and chose the music. He wanted this day to be happy for you. So be happy son."

So Daddy Holmes let Sherlock take his arm, and he walked him outside, to the back, filled with flowers, happy people and fairy lights. Where Mike Stamford stood, with fairy lights behind him, making him look as if he had a halo. Mycroft stood at the right, smiling for once, with Greg next to him, so happy. On the other side were Mrs Hudson and Meghan, looking especially gorgeous. Mummy came up to kiss Sherlock and then try to wipe the lipstick away, causing Sherlock to close his eyes and breathe deeply.

The musicians, who were playing classical music, suddenly quieted, then started playing. The guests started hooting and cheering and clapping. The trio of little girls came down the aisle in coordinated dance moves. 

[ Marry You - Bruno Mars ](https://youtu.be/5t3yWYm5yk)

When they cleared the lane, the song started and there was Harry, looking stunning in her dress, but Sherlock only had eyes for John. The mad man had his full state uniform on. He was dancing in it! Dancing. John lipsang to it and had the biggest smile, his eyes had such happiness:

_ It’s a beautiful night, _

_ We’re looking for something dumb to do, _

_ Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you _.

Sherlock’s eyes just filled with tears. Happy tears. Harry danced away, and John took Sherlock’s hand and they just started dancing. Friends and family cheered. Stood up in their seats and danced and clapped along. The girls let go blue and silver balloons. 

When the song ended, the guest took their seats, the grooms sat on a decorated bench, and John held Sherlock’s hand. Mike made a show of stretching, moving his head around and started, “If anyone has something important to do, in the next three hours, too bad. That is how long we will be here.”

Sherlock paled, but John smiled, gave his fiance a consoling look, and kissed his hand.

Mike continued, “Dear friends; I would say we are here to celebrate the union of these two men in matrimony, but that wouldn’t capture the entire significance of this occasion. These two have had a complex, deep, loving relationship for many years now. And I take full credit for it. 

See, I happen to be a successful matchmaker; having previously set up my good friend, Owen with his beautiful wife, Christina, going on 25 years now. My friend and colleague, Sarah Sawyer and my good friend Arthur Gregson, married now for 5 years, and my own beautiful wife, Linda, who despite being way out of my league, by some miracle of luck, twenty years ago decided to give me a chance when I told her we were, to cite my daughter Mel ‘OTPs’. So you see, in reality we are celebrating my concise matchmaking abilities. The moment I lay eyes on John Watson, I knew he was The One for the madman who earlier that same day asked me who would ever want him for a flatmate. I kid you not when I tell you John poised the same question, in the same tone of voice, and I saw Sherlock clearly in my mind in that instant. These two men didn’t stand a chance. I brought them together for no one to tear apart." Mike gave a proud little bow and and moved his hands, prompting the guest to applaud and hoot for him. 

He continued, “Granted, their road to this altar has been a roller coaster, but they are here today, thanks to the strength and the dedication of their love and devotion for each other. So now, to the mortification of my friend Sherlock, I will proceed with the full and even elongated ceremony. Starting with the rights and privileges of marriage. You have the right to be happy and content, after all the sacrifices you have made for one another. You have the right to continue to fight together against crime and injustice. You have the right to be each other’s home and comfort. You have the privilege of having each other to have and to hold, even after a time out, a recess, a recoup. Now you are stronger and have each proven yourself to the other. It is my pleasure to have introduced you and a true privilege to marry you. At this time the older, shorter groom has asked for a minute to speak, so everyone take one to stretch before he gets started as people his age tend to go on and on”

“Ah, thanks Mike, who has conveniently forgotten, we are exactly the same age.” John cleared his voice and took a deep breath. “Sherlock. You made your vow to me and to our daughter years ago. Although it was a short one, one sentence, it was the most meaningful one you could have made, and though in pledging it, you put your own life in danger again and again, you have honored it every single day of our lives. You have always been here. For Rosalie, since she was a newborn, bringing her up, teaching her, playing with her, adopting her. For me, coming back for me, planning my wedding for me, living for me, letting me go, and taking me back home. You sacrificed yourself in so many ways. You have given so much of yourself to us.

Now it’s my turn. I vow to always care for and protect you. I vow to make it known that I have the privilege of being your Husband, I vow to communicate with you, and work with you to find ways to understand each other and resolve conflict. I vow to let you know I love you through my words and my actions. I vow to always be here, to always be your home and always come back home to you. I love you William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes, you are the love of my life, and I will spend the rest of it proving my words.”

It was a good thing Sherlock had already made his vow, given at the moment he had no capacity for words, and tears were falling copiously from his eyes, not allowing him to say even the shortest, most important word. He tried “John”, but it came out a broken whisper. 

John pulled him into a hug and kissed him to Mike’s protests that, “Hey, I didn’t say you could kiss the groom, you wanker! You haven’t signed anything yet! Get your arses over here and bring your witnesses!"

After the grooms signed the Marriage Certificate, Rosie and Pepsi came up with the rings. In this, Sherlock had wanted them to match, and had a 24 k gold ring made in the style of Major Watson’s ring. Instead of “In Service Of The British Army” John’s read “In Service Of England”. The back sported an engraved magnifying glass, a deerstalker and a bee, instead of the Lion and Crossed Swords insignia, with the name Holmes where the Watson was on his ring. Sherlock had kept the words on the inside; “loyalty, duty, respect, love”. 

When the girls were each in front of their respective groom, Mike said, “Now, as a symbol of the commitment you have promised one another in front of everyone you hold dear, each take a ring, and say the line John, then Sherlock can repeat it. 

John said, his voice tinged with emotion,“With this ring, I declare to everyone, that you Sherlock Holmes have done me the honor of being my husband, now and forever more, come what may, the two of us against the rest of the world.”

Sherlock stood blinking there breath hitching, then he repeated, with a voice that quivered, “With this ring, I declare that you, John Watson, have done me the honor of being my husband, now and forever more, come what may, just the two of us against the world.

Mycroft, Greg, Harry and Mrs. Hudson got to sign their Marriage Certificate after the grooms themselves. Claire, Kaia and Mel turned on the bubble machines and the guests cheered as Mike finally got to say “Now the Groom may kiss the Other Groom!!” and John kissed Sherlock, dipping him almost to the floor. Sherlock stood up, blushing fiercely as the singer, Quincy Rivers, announced, “ Ladies and Gentlemen, the Grooms’ Dance! Give it up for the Watson-Holmes!”

[ Sleeping at Last - I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) LYRICS ](https://youtu.be/myNSHbsTIOg)

They did a long opening for people to find their places, as the promenade lit up and music began. 

_ “When I wake up, well you know I’m gonna be, _

_ I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you _

_ When I go out , yeah I know I’m gonna be _

_ I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you _…

Sherlock hid his face in John’s neck “God John, you remembered!”

“Of course I did love, we had to dance this at our wedding!"

Quincy, the wedding singer, repeated the first two stances to give them some more time. Once that was finished, he sang “Love Me Like You Do”. John danced with Mummy Holmes and Sherlock had his first dance as Sherlock Watson-Holmes with Mrs Hudson, who was as happy as he was. Then he danced “A Thousand Years” with his Watson, switching partners, giving Rosie to John, who gave Mrs Hudson to Daddy, who gave Mummy to Sherlock. 

The Watson-Holmes Grooms and the three girls danced to the original version of 500 Miles. Then the band stopped the music. The fairy lights sparkled when a slightly emotional Mycroft went center stage to toast for the grooms: 

“Sherlock, John, Dearest brothers; So as to get to the part where we dance, eat, drink and be merry, I have one word I want the two of you to hold on to: Stay. Stay in each other’s minds, hearts, and lives. Stay interested in how the other is feeling, in what he is passionate about. Stay in his thoughts, by his side, in his bed. Stay with one another. You both do best when you are together, and Rosalie and I have big plans for the future. Let’s raise our glasses and toast to love enduring! Cheers!”

The River Boys opened the floor with “Better When I’m Dancing”. Watching John’s unbridled happiness, the way his eyes shined and his laughter reached them easily, watching his Watson dancing with Pepsi, laughing as Nyla attacked them with a bubble gun, he could stop telling himself that a wedding was unnecessary or insignificant, or dumb. That John had done this, was everything. 

Rudely interrupted by Molly and the smallest girl among the guests, Samantha. “Sherlock!! You look stunning! Wasn’t that entrance just wonderful! Well don’t leave us standing here, dance with us!” Sherlock danced with Molly, who put her tiny daughter in his arms, and it must have been the occasion, that made his eyes moisten again, looking at little Samantha, remembering when his Watson had been so tiny, and he had desperately wanted to care for her, but had been so sick, and ignorant, and lonely. There she was now, coming to look at the baby, telling Molly, Sammy smelled like the best thing in the world. 

Then John came to rescue him and they sat for a while with Mrs Hudson, who talked non stop. There were also pictures taken with every single guest, even with the music band. There was so much dancing, and then food, and drink and general happiness. Sherlock never knew he could feel this much happiness, as he took in all his family and friends around him and looked at his husband. His Husband! being gorgeous and amazing.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have just had such a gleeful wedding that I cannot recommend anyone other than the great [ ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/pseuds/ChrisCalledMeSweetie) anything and everything she writes, from [ "Chemistry"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659549/chapters/23590533) to her series "The Ballads of John and Sherlock" to [ "Southhanger Abbey"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10885071/chapters/24188385) her stories helped me through my horrible time.  
The songs that have sung this story to me are available on it's playlist [ "Will You Take Me Home" ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list+PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e) on YouTube.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have had a looong journey to get here. Frustration, fights, separation. Each took a different route, but they learned from their mistakes, and from each other. They had friends along the way. Both of them confronted their problems and worked to make things better. They are at a place they didn't dare hope they would be a year ago. Now they are a family, together in their home, better prepared and disposed for what life has in store for them. The two of them, always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story, this happy ending is dedicated to my own Corazon, my Vitamina A, my One, my OTP. Thank you for your listening to my morning complaints about characters not doing what I wanted them to do (you always laughed, thinking authors have control over what they write.) Thank you for giving me your impartial opinions. Thank you for always answering "Sherlock" when asked what TV show you liked, even when you never watched one episode. Thank you for your support and your love. I'm so grateful we celebrated the happy ending in this story with that surprise Champagne toast in October 2019, when the story was finished! It was an unforgettable moment love. Today, when I press the button to post the last chapter, I will raise my glass to you. Siempre.

[ Matthew Mole - Running After You ](https://youtu.be/4L-jWBZ6jYM)

When finally, people started congratulating them and trickling away, Mummy and Daddy taking their guests with them, the Wiggins, and the girls, The Watsons and the Stamfords stayed back to do the clean up with the wedding caterers, and the singer came over with his group to congratulate Sherlock.

“Mr Sherlock Watson-Holmes, it is such a pleasure to see you again, and in such a joyous occasion! My most sincere congratulations!” 

“Mr Rivers, you did a remarkable job today, thank you and your band.” Sherlock said, noticing it was the tall blond singer missing. 

"If I may have a word with you, Mr Watson-Holmes” said the boy, and Sherlock remembered his name.

“Quincy, you may call me Sherlock. I will be retaining my given name in public, for business reasons. What may I do for you?”

“I just wanted to let you know I followed the advice you gave me at your brother’s wedding. Well I didn’t precisely call my partner, but we did get together when he came looking for me to NY. We have been together since. Our lives have changed. I’ve moved back to South America to be with him, and travel back to the states a couple of times a year, to continue with the work I have there. We started organizations in our country to help support lgtb youth and seniors. It’s been a whirlwind. Can I call him over?”

Sherlock accepted, waiting somewhat desperately for John to come to the rescue. “Sherlock, this is Alberto Contreras, my partner.”

“I’m his fiance, Mr Holmes and very pleased to meet you. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for the advice you gave this hard headed kid. He only gave me a chance after he met you. Your wedding was the most beautiful I have seen.”

All Sherlock wanted now was find John and escape with him, but the younger men were not done talking. 

Alberto said, "We wanted to give you an open invitation to our hotel, any time you would like to visit the Isla de Las Tortugas. It is a Safe Harbor hotel, catering mostly to same sex couples and families. It will be our privilege to have you with us.”

Quincy’s phone rang. “Yes Dr Watson-Holmes, fine. Congratulations once more and thanks for the opportunity to witness your beautiful wedding. We’ll send him in now.” He turned and looked at Sherlock. “As much as we enjoyed your company, we overstayed our welcome at your husband’s request, so he could prepare something for you. Felicidades Sherlock and may you and your family live a long, happy life. Vamonos, Beto.”

[ Boyce Avenue Cover - Love Me Like You Do ](https://youtu.be/sDZ8Wphz828)

The younger men walked away, arms around each other. Sherlock went into the cottage, that was illuminated with lanterns that mimicked candlelight. There was no sign of John.

“John? What is all this?’ Why is the door closed?’

The cottage had a nice low lighting, there was a fire in the fireplace and there was John, an absolute vision in his uniform, looking at him with a smile. 

John stepped closer to him, held his hands, “Those River Boys did really know their songs. You really do look perfect, love. God you are so beautiful. Sherlock, we did it. We made it. This whole day seems like a dream. I can barely believe it.” He could barely get that last sentence out.

Sherlock rubbed John’s ring. “I have married an Army Captain. My dream has come true, Dearest. I’m so full, I can’t breathe properly. John, we are together. Our rings match. We belong together.” If there was moisture in their eyes, or some wetness on their cheeks, neither of them commented. 

John took him by the hand to the fireplace, where a tray with strawberry champagne awaited them. “To my love, for tearing down a relationship in ruins and building a new one from the ashes.”

Sherlock raised his glass and clinked John with it. “To my Dearest, because I was homeless until he came back to me. We are home now.” They drank.

Then John showed Sherlock the bath that was drawn with lavender oil, and salts. The tub had been custom made for two. He showed him two thick camel color robes that waited for them on hooks. John helped Sherlock take his suit off, and hung it neatly on hangers, then Sherlock did the same for John. 

They got in the tub, John behind Sherlock, hugging. They sat in the hot relaxing water. Then John took a washcloth and started scrubbing Sherlock’s shoulders, and chest, kissing his hair, his face. John made sure they both were clean, and relaxed, and then got out, dried himself, got into his robe and helped Sherlock out, carefully drying him off too. 

He led them to the bedroom, that was also softly lit and warm. John looked at Sherlock. “Sweetheart, there is something I have often dreamed of. I would like to attempt it.”

Sherlock looked somewhat alarmed; “John?”

“I want to make up for the times I wanted to kiss you, and I didn’t. There are some kisses that haunted me in dreams since the moment they didn’t happen. Can I try?”

Sherlock smiled then, “Try then, husband.” At that, John smiled a big happy smile.

He lay his husband in the center of the bed, head on pillow. He kissed Sherlock’s left eyelid, “This is for when I wanted to kiss you when you winked at me.” 

He kissed Sherlock’s cheek, “This is for when I was flirting with you at Angelo’s that first night.”

He kissed Sherlock’s lips, “This is for when we were laughing our heads off at Baker Street." 

Sherlock’s right hand, “This is for when I wanted to kiss you right in front of the cursed Woman.” Sherlock laughed.

Sherlock’s neck, “This is for when you played with your collar in Baskerville."

John’s voice broke when he kissed Sherlock’s wrist, “This is for when your were laying on the street, and I wanted desperately to bring you back to life.” 

Then he kissed him passionately, “This is how I should have greeted you when you came back from being away.”

He kissed Sherlock’s hands, “This is for when you saved me from the fire.”

Sherlock’s chest, “This is when she shot you. I wanted to die.”

“Stop. No more, dearest.” said Sherlock. “That was then, look at what we have now! Let’s be happy, John. Please!”

“You’re right. There is one more kiss I want to give my brand new husband, though.” and here there was heat, and mischief in his eyes. He moved the fluffy comforter out of the way and caressed his husband’s chest, his waist, his long legs. Then, when it woke up and started to show interest, he kissed the tip of his cock, and looked at Sherlock. He looked breathless, and happy, so John proceeded to suck and lick and use his hand as his tongue went to his husband’s bollocks. 

“John, kiss me.” They shared a passionate kiss.

“Husband,” said Sherlock, “you inside me.”

“Yes love of course.” So John coated his fingers and prepared him, as they kissed, and he used his other hand to stroke Sherlock’s arms, his legs, When Sherlock said, “I’m ready, John” he didn’t ask about positions, because his husband clearly wanted to look into his eyes, 

So John looked at his husband, older than the man he met at Bart’s, wiser than the friend he had at Baskerville, more human than the man who had let him go. Still, he was the most beautiful person John had ever met.. Sherlock, here, laid out for him, was all he ever really wanted. He kissed him once more, and entered him like his husband liked it, all the way to the hilt first, then some rhythmic thrusting. “There’s no one else here love, you can let go”

Sherlock opened his eyes and put his hands on his legs, massaged that spot on John’s thigh that had used to hurt, long ago, John felt his body amp up, he felt his thighs rub on his man’s hips, their hands laced together, Sherlock’s eyes were all the colors of their wedding, as this man was everything. The sounds he was making, the words in French, “I’m so close love” Sherlock told him, and he was trembling.

John proceeded to rub on Sherlock’s prostate as he thrusted, and stroked his cock, wet with precome already. As he gave the head a twist upwards, Sherlock called out “John, John!” and spilled over his husband’s hand, John thrusted, a few hard, fast movements, and he came too, breath accelerated and heart racing. He looked into his lover’s eyes. There was happiness in them, and love. No fear.

John went to the loo, to get flannel to clean them up with, and a towel. Sherlock was already falling asleep. John thought the day must have been exhausting for him, with all the people and the ceremony and the dancing. He had done so well! John’s mind went through the wedding as he held his sleeping husband. Harry had been and looked superb. Meg had been a rock, helping him every step of the way. Mrs Hudson had been thrilled to be a witness, and Sherlock’s first dance. She had told him how Daddy Holmes had helped Sherlock calm down and make it to the wedding. Mycroft had found a way to pay for most of the arrangements, and John knew he had donated to the causes the River Boys supported. He and Greg had danced and entertained Mummy. Donovan looked happy for once, looking very beautiful, with her date, DI Rodriguez. He looked totally besotted. Dr Quentin and Dr Gates, had come together, arm in arm and danced, and drank, and at the end of the evening, Beverly’s head had been on Ian’s shoulder. That made John ridiculously happy. Everything made him ridiculously happy. The look on his husband’s eyes when he and the girls had danced down the aisle! Sherlock had danced. With everyone apparently!

John felt hungry and not at all sleepy, so he carefully got up and went to make himself some tea. The fridge was full of leftovers. He picked some cake, lemon and honey. He took it to the sofa in front of the fireplace. As he ate, he thought of how gorgeous Sherlock was, and how in love they were. To think he had left! He had thought he needed freedom, he needed to date other people. What an idiot. The women he had been with were mostly lovely, and willing, and it had been exciting in the beginning, but he had missed Sherlock terribly. John smiled as he thought of how the few men he had flirted with while they were separated had never stood a chance. He never could hold a whole conversation with them, much less date another man. John knew now, he had needed that time. The separation, the sense of losing him to someone else, to be able to drop the shit, work on his issues and tear down what was not working. They had a new relationship. This was built on the foundation of their long standing love, and also on their iron will to build it up, to make it strong and durable. John startled and realized he had been falling asleep. He went back to bed. Sherlock opened his eyes, and cuddled with him 

“wherewereyou?” he asked sleepily

“Just in the kitchen love, I’m back”

“Well obviously” he snarked, more than half asleep again. John followed suit.

The next morning, he woke up late, alone in bed and the sounds of giggling outside. Sherlock and the girls were playing catch. John took a shower, dressed and started sharing pictures on his blog, and social media. Rosalie came running in to hug him and tell him “Grandmere said come to brunch as soon as you’re ready. And she has “mimosas” for you, fruity drinks for breakfast. 

They spent a week at the cottage, but life beckoned at Baker Street. There was school to finish for Rosie, conferences and meetings for John, plus his art exhibition and comic book publishing, “The Family Life of a Remarkable Rose”. Sherlock was wildly proud of his husband and daughter. He continued working with D.I’s Donovan and Harris. Rosie made a new friend, who moved across the street, at Mrs Turners. Well mannered, shy and tall for his age, Martin also had two dads, doctors both of them, the Sternbachs. 

*********

[ Andreas Moe - Mine MIne MIne ](https://youtu.be/34Gd9DxwHBM)

Sherlock did his best to be happy for Rosie, when Harry and Meg took her for the summer. Meg had many plans of taking her to the dance school, and maybe getting her into a program with her. John had told him they would take a holiday, which would be appreciated, given they hadn’t really had too much time for themselves since the wedding. John had tried to surprise him, and knew his methods quite well, but of course Sherlock had found out. He had been delighted with the destination, so he didn’t let on he had discovered it. John had rejoiced in secretly preparing their luggage so that Sherlock didn’t deduce that he had bought them new winter jackets and boots. John had splurged for first class tickets, though it was a necessity if Sherlock had to endure the nine hour flight to Denali National Park in Alaska, USA. They had arrived barely alive and somewhat cross, but that had dissipated when the bus took them to the Lodge and Sherlock hurried to the checking to ask about Dog kennel visits, and sled dog demonstrations, and the different trails and bus rides that could get them close to the wild animals.

“I wish Watson could see this” Said Sherlock to John who had the camera. They had taken the first bus out, and Sherlock had been thrilled that a pack of wolves were in plain sight. He was now laying on the floor with binoculars, as John took pictures. “She’s fine with Harry, love, and that gives her a break from London, a fresh perspective” </

“You are jealous of the time she’s been spending with the boy. He’s good, he told her he wants to learn the idioms so he doesn’t stand out that much in school. Pepsi is jealous, too. You both should relax.”

When John brooded a bit, Sherlock continued. “What do you like best about this location, dearest?”

“Hmm, let’s see. The fresh air, the walks on the trails, the dogs, these off the trail walks. Being with you, Sherlock. Always.”

“For me it’s this, doing things together, and not getting bored, finding these animals, and… John, did you ever open my luggage?”

“Um no. I thought you were going to do it. Why?’

“Oh, I might have brought toys with me. To use. We can do it tonight, I would like to top, and use the toy on you. I would love to hear your howl.”

John stood there, his cock apparently very interested in Sherlock’s voice and words, in the middle of nowhere, his husband and he alone. “You prick! You know very well what you’re doing to me! Now I want to go back to the lodge Right. Now!’ Come on, we are walking!”

“You are out of your mind Captain, impossible.” Sherlock smirked

“Sherlock!” John snarled, approaching him

“Get away from me you beast!” He laughed

John tackled him and started to tickle him. Sherlock laughed out loud, sending the wolves back into the security of their den. Sherlock got up and escaped John, running towards the road. He held out his hand and made signs to John, yelling “The bus is coming John, hurry up!” 

‘How in hell does he do that?’ He wondered, as he got on the bus, and sat down next to him. His husband, happy, and pink faced from running around with him, mischief in his eyes. John took his hand and kissed his face. They were going to enjoy every minute of what was to come. There were no doubts left between them. It was the two of them to face the world, the three of them to love, and live and hope.

[Sheppard - Geronimo! ](https://youtu.be/34Gd9DxwHBM)

_ **The End El Fin** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote! My deepest thanks to all my readers! I hope the story entertained you or kept you company. Please know that your comments and kudos have lifted my spirits and made the experience of sharing this story of mine an unforgettable one. I have been honoring the stories that have meant so much to me, and so many have not been featured. So I will add a few more, of those that I read on repeat, when I need a friend.  
[ The Frost Is All Over ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1614890/chapters/3440210) by the amazing Chryse, Sherlock loves John from the day he meets him. This is the most beautiful love story!  
[ carrying up his morning tea ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4336904/chapters/27322974#workskin) by darcylindbergh. Please have tissue at hand. Oh the pain! However this story is a thing of beauty! I have read it repeatedly and its well worth the tears.  
[He Was a Friend of Mine ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11031594) by the great SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John. I took the men's Honeymoon destination from their story "Bluest of Blue", but as that one in not available in Johnlock form, I offer you my absolute favorite. A take on a very famous movie I love, they give it a Johnlock spin and thankfully, a happy ending.  
[ Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/605441) by withoutawish. This was one of the first AO3 fics I read and it hooked me from the start. At Christmas time, John asks Sherlock to make a list. He does and John sets out to fulfill it. On John's list there is only one item. It's up to Sherlock to rise to the occasion. Lovely.  
[ The Great Sex Olympics of 221B ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/477669/chapters/895210#workskin) by XistentialAngst. The boys each think they are the best at sex. They conduct an experiment. This story is soo good! Yes lots of hot sex, but also surprisingly tender and loving.  
[ Deflowered - Director's Cut ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3344687/chapters/9332256#bookmark-form) by the fantastic Lorelei_Lee. To say it is a story about Mafia Boss John and Virgen Sex Worker Sherlock is to sell the story so short. The Author includes tons of information, visuals, even recipes. There is so much to learn from this story, if you just open your mind!  
That's it for now! know so many more, but I believe I leave new readers with a starter library :)  
You can find all the music that inspired the story in the playlist [ Will You Take Me Home? ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3gHG-J9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM-73zz0e) on YouTube.

**Author's Note:**

> The story that set the bar for the Sherlock and Donovan relationship is Chryse’s [ “Another Country” ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315866/chapters/19043209)  
Read that one! And all of Chryse’s work! Truly magnificent stories!  
Also inspiring, [ You Go To My Head ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/392395) by the amazingly talented 7PercentSolution and J_Baillier  
I have put together a YouTube playlist where I will be adding songs linked here and maybe some others that I listened to on repeat while writing this; [ Will You Take Me Home ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLud3ghGJ9VqGg4NmAWHijcOM9-73zz0e)


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